


A Cailín Came to Town

by mzladybird



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Ben Solo is Not Nice, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Intense Themes, Mentions of Abortion, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Rey is Bensexual (Star Wars), Slow Build, Slow Burn, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzladybird/pseuds/mzladybird
Summary: -----------------------------------“Hello, yes. I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Solo. I am told this is his place of office. Is he in?”“Is he expecting you, Ms…”“Rey. And no, I don’t imagine he is.”The woman—Maz, was it?—smiled softly in a way that didn’t reach her too-big eyes.“Then I don’t *imagine* you’ll be meeting with him today. He’s due to leave momentarily.”“Oh, it won’t take long, I can assure you—”“You ‘eard her, girl,” The redhead grumbled, “Ben’s busy. Now piss off—”“Armie,” Maz snapped, her eyes never leaving Rey. The gaze was cool, polite but distant. “We will tell him that you stopped by, Rey…”“Kenobi. My name is Rey Kenobi.”The redhead was already pushing the door closed, but he stopped when Maz’s hand came down on his forearm. Her eyes were no longer distant. They were, however, far colder, and flashed with something sharp.“Please,” She said, the smile returning, “Come inside.”-----------------------------------In which a Traveller comes to town, seeking business with the Black Knight of Birmingham.A Reylo/Peaky Blinders semi-crossover with A/B/O...undertones? I know, I don't get it either.
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 278
Kudos: 353





	1. Icky Thump, in which the Traveller asks the Knight for a favor

**Author's Note:**

> Dia dhuit! Hello! Welcome to whatever the fuck this is.
> 
> I'll get right to it: Quarantine has made a mess of my brain, and now I'm just smashing together my latest obsessions and throwing them on 'paper' (so to speak). Angsty Reylo? Check. Peaky Blinders semi-crossover? Why the fuck not. ABO dynamics that do and don't follow any specific physics of the Omegaverse? I know, what was she thinking?
> 
> Disclaimer: I know fuck all about anything, especially British period dramas, Romani culture, and Gaelic. Nothing here is accurate, and I apologize in advance if anything offends. Take absolutely none of this seriously, and please call me out when I misstep. Charge it to the head, not the heart (but also take me to task when needed, yeah? Accountability is my love language.)
> 
> Welcome to Birmingham, y'all. By order of the Knights of fookin Ren, let this dumpster fire of a fic burn!
> 
> Chapter song: Icky Thump, by The White Stripes

**A Cailín Came to Town**

**1**

**Icky Thump, in which the Traveller asks the Knight for a favor**

“Bets are closed today, love. Come back Monday.”

“Actually,” Rey lurched forward, shoving her foot between the door and threshold, “I’m here to see Mr. Solo.”

The red-headed man behind the door, his pale face cast grey with shadow, narrowed his clear eyes at her.

“You got an appointment?”

Not…exactly. “Is he in?”

“Armie, what in the bloody hell are y—oy, hello.”

Another man, this one dark-skinned and less prickly, suddenly pushed the door wider. His gaze swept Rey perfunctorily, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“Right, miss, we aren’t taking the bets today but if you come back on Monday—”

“I’m not here about the races,” Rey huffed a bit too sharply. She cleared her throat in apology when the man’s smile faltered. “I’m here to see Mr. Solo.”

“You’ve got a meeting with Ben? Don’t remember him mentioning…oy, Maz! Thought Benny was heading to London this afternoon.”

“He is,” A voice from deep inside called out, “Just came to sign some papers for me.”

“Girl out here says she has a meeting with him.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Meeting? Impossible, I cleared the books meself…”

A shuffling of feet followed, and then the door was pulled open wide to reveal a small woman of similarly dark complexion and tight curls cut close. Her eyes were abnormally large behind thick spectacles, like the frames were set with magnifying glasses instead of standard lenses. She squinted up at Rey, barely standing above five feet.

“Sweetheart, can I help you?”

Rey swallowed the growl of frustration bubbling in the back of her throat and folded her hands tightly in front of her.

“Hello, yes. I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Solo. I am told this is his place of office. Is he in?”

“Is he expecting you, Ms…”

“Rey. And no, I don’t imagine he is.”

The woman—Maz, was it?—smiled softly in a way that didn’t reach her too-big eyes.

“Then I don’t _imagine_ you’ll be meeting with him today. He’s due to leave momentarily.”

“Oh, it won’t take long, I can assure you—”

“You ‘eard her, girl,” The redhead grumbled, “Ben’s busy. Now piss off—”

“Armie,” Maz snapped, her eyes never leaving Rey. The gaze was cool, polite but distant. “We will tell him that you stopped by, Rey…”

“Kenobi. My name is Rey Kenobi.”

Neither man so much as flinched. In fact, the redhead was already pushing the door closed, but he stopped when Maz’s hand came down on his forearm. Her eyes were no longer distant. They were, however, far colder, and flashed with something sharp.

“Please,” She said, the smile returning, “Come inside.”

******

There may not have been any bets that day, but that didn’t mean the building was empty. Three young men in newsboy caps passed by as Rey followed Maz and the two men into the offices of the Knights of Ren. The space was modest, worn wood and glass walls with worktables and chairs strewn about. Papers and ledgers from the week’s bets lay in somewhat haphazard piles, and the haze of cigarette smoke caught the light filtering in through a couple of high windows pressed close to the ceiling. A woman with short black hair and delicate features sat hunched over a desk, furiously scribbling in a large book with one hand while the other traced a finger down a long, wrinkled paper tally.

“Rose, put a pot of tea on, would you? Rey, please take a seat.”

The woman looked up, her eyes cloudy with whatever frantic calculations she was just making. It took her a moment to register Maz’s words, and another to notice Rey.

“Hullo,” It came out as a question, “I, ah…”

“Tea, Rose. Finn, stay with her.”

Stay with her? What, did they think she’d make a play for the money vaults? Rey snorted incredulously.

“Really, there’s no need—”

Maz was already headed down the hall. Rey’s eyes followed, past more tables and cabinets and bookshelves to make out the shape and size of Ben Solo’s office beyond the walls of glass partitioning the space. His office was wood-paneled where everything else was open, but his door was glass. Through the pane, Rey thought she saw a dark head hung over a great desk, could see the top of it snap up when Maz knocked on the door…

She fidgeted with the collar of her shirt, something hot and itchy scratching beneath the skin of her neck. Her nail just barely grazed the tender spot, and she shivered.

“So, what sort of business does a pretty thing like you got with the Knights of Ren?”

Rey’s head snapped around and she jolted slightly to find the dark-skinned man sitting uncomfortably close to her. He smiled wide. It was a nice smile, she noted, and surprisingly genuine.

“That’s, ah, well…” She cleared her throat forcefully against a tickle, “My grandfather, bit of old connections.”

“That right? Kenobi, was it? Never have heard the name 'round Birmingham.”

Rey’s eyes flicked to Rose, who was also regarding her now with a disquieting degree of interest. Without thought, Rey’s finger pressed again to that tender spot at her throat, and Rose’s brow furrowed.

“I wouldn’t imagine you would have, seeing as we aren’t from here.”

“And whereabouts are you from, then? Your accent—”

“Irish, yeah. Born just outside Dublin.”

“Well, naturally. But I mean your _accent._ You one of them Travellers?”

Rey had to hand it to the man. His interrogation was seamless. She turned fully to him then, plastering a wide smile across her face. She extended her hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name—”

“Yeah, you did,” The man laughed, taking her hand anyways, “Finn.”

“A pleasure, Finn. Now, cut the shit and just ask the question.” _The real one._

Finn cupped a hand over his grin and leaned back in his chair. She could see him debating it, but after a moment he gave a decisive shake of the head.

“Nope, actually no,” He slapped his knee, “I’d rather see how this one plays out.”

Rey’s bravado wavered at that, and not for the first time since she’d hitched a ride down the canal from Manchester did she feel a quiver of unease grip her stomach. It was a gamble, coming here. One she knew could end _very_ badly for her. In fact, it almost certainly would, if Maz’s reaction to her appearance was any indication.

It had been seven years since the Knights of Ren and the Dubliners had declared war upon each another. Three years since said war was ended in a reluctant truce made out of necessity, not atonement. The Italians had come to the British Isles, pinching down on organized families on both sides of the Isle of Man, and even bitterest rivals understood the benefit of teamwork for the sake of survival.

Kenobis and Solos were at once allies and enemies, the designation dependent on delicate contingencies and always subject to change. Rey could only pray that present circumstances would favor her case.

The sound of muffled voices carried beyond the glass. Rey’s neck was burning, and her tongue felt heavy. She rubbed her sweaty palms over her thighs and found that her wrists, too, had begun to sting. Finn’s smile faltered as he watched, and Rose whispered his name, motioning for him to follow her. There was an edge of urgency to it.

“Right, stay here, yeah? Be back with that tea.”

Rey nodded absently, rubbing at the heat burning her wrists. Jesus, had someone left an oven on? She could feel something like a rash breaking out on her chest, and an ache building in the hollow below her sternum. It began to descend slowly, settling hot and sticky in the lowest part of her belly.

The voices at the end of the hall were louder now, more insistent. One was decidedly male and startlingly deep. It pitched higher, almost a shout, before cutting off suddenly as if choked. Rey thought she heard Maz mutter something—was that concern in her tone?—before the deep voice was back, barking a short but decisive command. The click of the door preceded Maz’s footsteps coming down the hall.

“Yes, well,” The tiny woman clapped her hands as she rounded the corner, “He will see you, but he is quite short on time so best be quick about—where’d Rose and Finn go?”

“Oh, uh, tea,” Rey’s voice was thick and scratchy, and Maz gave her a curious look. Rey could feel sweat beading at her temple, but if Maz noticed she said nothing.

“Down the hall, through the double doors. You’ll find his office beyond mine. Knock first.”

Rey didn’t need any more invitation. She practically leaped up from her seat, air suddenly coming to her with more difficulty. Fucking hell, you’d think she’d swam the Irish Sea and run all the way to Birmingham with the way she was huffing. Her head had begun to ache.

Maz’s office was small but clean and well-dressed. A pot of tea sat atop her desk, an empty cup beside it. Were she her under any other circumstances, Rey might have offered to read the woman’s tea leaves for a coin. She’d always had a way with those things, the spirits and energies and voices. She heard things others didn’t, saw what couldn’t be seen. Her grandfather called it Second Sight, a touch of heaven, but Rey suspected anyone could tap into such things should they have enough want for it. It was like a force, a web to which all things—living, dead, dying, and undying—were bound. She could almost feel it now, like a knot in her gut, tied to the end of a string pulling her inexorably towards the door at the other end of Maz’s office.

Her hand clasped impatiently around the handle, but she stayed herself at the last moment. Maz told her to knock.

At once hesitant and hasty, she wrapped her knuckles against the glass.

“Come in.”

Rey turned the knob.

The office was, in a word, resplendent. Unlike the rest of the building, this office was fully paneled in dark wood stained near black. The floor was polished and covered in a thick Persian rug of deep crimson and gold. The walls were hung with art—no doubt European, maybe French?—and a hearth with the coals of a dead fire sat against the right wall. Above its mantel, a brass-gilded mirror hung heavy, reflecting the room back at her in a way that made it appear twice as large.

He sat behind his desk, at the head of the office. The desk, like the rest of the space, was a work of art—ornate and imposing. The mahogany wood was solid as the tree from which it was carved, the details of its edges and trimmings a testament to the craftsmanship. His elbows rested atop its gleaming surface, a few papers stacked in front of him.

Rey could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t immediately meet them. No, she took her time drinking in the rest of him, starting with those elbows. The sleeves of his white dress shirt had been rolled up, baring the skin of his forearms. Her gaze traced the way they curved up and out, over thick bands of muscles struck with veins beneath skin like marble—white, smooth, hard. His wrists were thick, his hands were big as they folded together beneath his chin. His jaw was strong—everything about him spoke of strength—but his lips looked soft where they pursed beneath the pad of his stroking thumb. The planes of his face were dramatic, not quite beautiful and yet more boyish than she’d expected, but it was when she finally met his eyes that she understood.

This was Benjamin Solo. Old Ben. Benny the Reaper. The Black Knight of Birmingham. And he was staring at her like she was the devil come knocking on his doorstep, and him with a shotgun.

She got lost in his eyes for a moment. They were dark beneath a fall of ink-black waves he made no move to brush back, the kind of warm brown that recalled single malt in the shadows of a midnight pub, and had the same burn. Yeah, the burn. She could feel it still. Feel it _more_. Her veins were sizzling with it.

“So, you’re his granddaughter.”

His voice was criminal, the way it rippled through her just then. Robbing her of sense. Robbing her of the gumption she’d needed to make this trip. The rash flared across her skin, pricking her chest, making her neck flash with heat. She swallowed thickly.

“Please, sit.”

He gestured subtly to the chair across from him. How she managed to break through the haze of heat licking her from the inside was beyond guessing, and yet she lowered herself to sit. _Thank god_ , she thought, _he wouldn’t kill me sitting._

“Mr. Solo,” She started, but the words were husky coming out, and she had to clear her throat. She caught a muscle tick in his jaw, his fingers tightening their grip the smallest fraction. Her vision had begun to take on a foamy quality at the edges, and the pressure in her gut was more than uncomfortable at this point. Fucking Christ, she would _not_ throw up in front of this man. She would _absolutely not spoil his lovely carpet—_

“Three years ago, I was holed up a tenement flat at the edge of this city, counting bullets in my rifle and waiting for an Italian to cross the threshold so I could unload each one of them in his skull before he had a chance to do the same to me. When I get this letter, come straight from Dublin. So, I read it. Now, at first, I’m confused, because the writer claims to be a Traveller, but as I understand it, Travellers don’t conduct affairs of such a delicate nature in writing. Too easy for words to fall on the wrong ears that way.”

He leaned back in his chair, revealing an impressive expanse of chest barely contained by his pressed white shirt and slate grey vest. His hair was long, she mused, unkempt where the rest of him was perfectly arranged. He pulled a cigarette case from his vest, offering her one. Rey shook her head haltingly, and he shrugged. He rubbed the cigarette back and forth between his lips before procuring a lighter from his pants pocket, taking a long, heavy drag.

“So, naturally, I think to myself it’s some kind of trap. Maybe the Dublin clans have taken up with the Italians and are trying to lure me out. So, I throw the letter in the fire and go back to counting my bullets. But then I get another letter, and this one is followed shortly after by a phone call. The writer says he’s in town. Says he’s alone. Agrees to come to me and my men, unarmed, to make his case. You can imagine it only confuses me more, considering this man claims to be Obadiah Kenobi, head of the Kenobi clan and protégé of Dublin’s own Qui-Gon Jinn. I ask myself, what the fuck does a man of Jinn’s want with me? Besides revenge for blowing up his distillery last Christmas.”

Rey knew the story. The distillery was one of the few businesses Jinn ran that had a stable international market, particularly in the States. Prohibition kept demand for whisky high, and the Irish were always happy to wet a Yankee whistle if the price was right. There were no better people to move contraband to the docs than Travellers. Her father’s men had worked with Jinn for years, offering protection and transport services for his various enterprises. When the distillery blew—retribution for the Lee clan crashing the Derby and making off with a heaping cut of Solo’s bets—it wasn’t just the Jinns who felt the blow to their pockets.

“But he doesn’t want revenge. He’s come to make a deal. The Dubliners want rid of the Italians. Thinks I might want the same thing.”

He took another long drag, letting the smoke slip lazily between his parted lips, and she had a hard time swallowing.

“There is a catch, of course. In exchange for pledging his clan, the Lee clan, and the whole Jinn outfit to our mutual aid, he invokes a pact. Says we are bound by blood, and when the time comes, he will call in a favor and on the grave of my Romani grandmother, I will abide to it.”

Another puff, but this time he held it, tipping his head back only to look down the length of his nose at her. Rey held her breath, too, for what purpose she could not say.

“I assume you have come to collect on this favor.”

“I need a job.”

It wasn’t what he expected. The smoke slithered from between his teeth, his dark brows slashing down over his eyes. He stamped it out in the ashtray and leaned forward.

“Sorry?”

“A job. Here. I would like to work for your organization, Mr. Solo.”

He studied her in a way that only exacerbated her suddenly precarious hold on consciousness. Then, he pressed his thumb and forefingers to his eyes, rubbing deeply. A moment of heavy, hot silence passed.

“Are you in trouble?” The rumble of his voice churned the words into gravel.

“I—not anymore. I was. We were. But it is passed. And it will stay passed if I take this job.”

“You talk as if I’ve offered it to you.”

“Mr. Solo, you made my grandfather a promise—”

“And this job, which I have not offered, what would it entail?”

“I can type—”

“I have a typist.”

“I can do maths—”

“I have an accountant, a bookkeeper, and a tally woman.”

“I have Second Sight.”

His head snapped up then, fingers falling away from his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“I can…see things. Things that have happened. Things that are going to happen. I read tea leaves, read the stars, read people’s color—”

“Their color.”

“I can read you, if you’d like?”

The thought seemed to unsettle him, but he quickly schooled his expression back into apathy.

“No, that’s quite alright. And how would this…Second Sight…help me and my businesses?”

“I could help with the bets, let you know which horse is going to win—”

“The races are fixed. I already know who is going to win. What else?”

“I…” Rey scratched again at her throat, moments away from unbuttoning the collar altogether. Ben’s eyes tracked the movement, his throat bobbing ever so slightly. His frown deepened.

“What about the dead?”

“What?”

“The dead. Can you speak to them?”

Rey swallowed, fighting against the haziness tunneling her vision.

“Yes.”

Ben rubbed his chin, his thumb catching on his bottom lip. Rey suddenly couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Where are you staying?”

“I-I don’t know. I didn’t get that far.”

He gave a nod. “You will stay at the Regent, above the Armory. It’s my hotel, my pub. Ask for Jeanie, tell her I sent you. You will report to me at the bar in the morning, at 7. No later. It’s a bit of a drive to the country, and I’ve a meeting at 10 tomorrow.”

It took Rey a moment to process his words. It sounded an awful lot like he was giving her a job…as a necromancer.

“T-thank you, Mr. Solo.”

He gave another nod, waving her not unkindly towards the door. She was slow to stand, her legs almost boneless as a rush of something warm suffused her limbs and made every inch of her skin feel damp. She was halfway to the door when he called her name.

“Ms. Kenobi?”

“Yes, Mr. Solo?”

“Block down from the Armory is a pharmacy. Get some pills from Dr. Hendry, high dose. I won’t have an omega catching heat in my offices. That’ll be all.”


	2. I Want Some More, in which the Traveller sees a Man in the bloody mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've fallen down the rabbit hole with this. I'm like...five chapters ahead in my mind already. Be advised, this fic will be dark, but I doubt anyone coming back for chapter 2 expects otherwise. I mean, early 20th-century British gangs. Need I say more?
> 
> It will also be porny (also to be expected if you read the tags) but it's currently shaping up to be a slow burn. Stick with me! It's...yeah, that pun is just too easy. It's *on the way.*
> 
> Chapter song: I Want Some More, by Dan Auerbach

**2**

**I Want Some More, in which the Traveller sees a Man in the bloody mist**

Rey tugged at the collar of her trench, folding it and pressing it flat to her chest until it was smooth. The coat was old, a navy wool hand-me-down from one of the older girls, but it still held its shape and the moths hadn’t gotten to it yet. Her skirt was old, too, but just as well-made with plenty of life left to the folds. In time, she would have enough money to buy something new, she mused. Something more stylish, a proper dress for a lady in the service of the Knights of Ren.

The room Jeanie had put her up in was small, but for a girl used to sleeping out of a wagon, it felt massive. The bed was made for one, a lumpy mattress on a squeaky metal frame, and the dresser at its foot had a missing handle on the third drawer. The lamp beside the bed was her favorite part of the space, with a cloth lampshade in jade green. That and the floor-length mirror she currently stood in front of, fussing with herself.

Rey was plain by most accounts. Neither tall nor short, and decidedly thin. Her body was somewhat androgenous, her jaw square in a way that most women might hate but she found rather appealing from a certain perspective. If she looked girlish in her frame, her face was strong. She looked like she could hold her own. She _could_ hold her own.

“And I will,” She whispered to her reflection, tucking a curl of brown hair behind her ear. She scanned the room, eyes falling on the clock atop the dresser. 6:50.

A small bottle sat beside the clock. The little white pills inside looked green under the brown glass.

Rey opened the bottle and poured one into the palm of her hand. And then she just stared at it.

Take one a day, the pharmacist had said. He’d been so matter-of-fact about it. One in the morning with water, preferably twenty minutes before first meal. Gave it time to settle, he’d said.

_I won’t have an omega catching heat in my offices. That’ll be all._

It was funny, Rey thought, how a little bit of coal, some fancy factories and the fancier cars they churned out, could make men feel bigger than their nature. Put ‘em behind the wheel of a tank or the head of a chamber of parliament and suddenly they were representatives of _civilization,_ masters of capital and agents of empire. When the truth of it was far simpler, and infinitely stupider. At the end of the day, everyone was either predator or prey, but animals all the same.

They told her she was an omega on her 14th birthday. She’d been found in a field, passed out amidst the tall grasses, with a fever ragging through her body and her skin blistered and patchy. She’d run from home a few days before, following something on the air. She thought it was a spirit, something calling her home. It had no smell, no shape, no color, but it had a flavor that evaded description. Yet the farther it took her from the wagons, the more distant it seemed to her, until she’d lost its taste entirely. The last thing she remembered was standing in a field of overgrown hay, her arms and legs jerking and her skin screaming with fire.

“Mum says she knew one once. Called ‘em whispering maids. Said you could smell it on the air when the fits hit ‘em. Catch a whiff and it spoke wicked things in your ear. Could drive the right man mad with want, could turn ‘em to _devils_ —”

“That’s enof, Alice. Go see ‘bout getting more ice. Poor thing’s still hot as a stovetop.”

“I’d not have her round when my husband comes back from the city. Steal ‘im out from under me nose, she will—”

“Quiet! Can’t you see she is just a child? Ain’t no fault of her own.”

“It’s a curse, having one of her kind ‘round camp.”

“A curse indeed,” The other woman had murmured, pressing a cold cloth to Rey’s burning forehead, “And one I’d not wish on my worst enemy. Ay, sweet girl.”

In truth, her "accursed" designation proved far less threatening than expected. That heat was her first and only, an odd aberration in an otherwise ordinary adolescence. True, she’d had bouts of discomfort, moments of feeling that strange burn beneath her skin. And yet it never went anywhere from there. Just an ache. Just vague intimations of…not want, no…something deeper, perhaps…

She tossed the pill in her mouth and grabbed the glass of water on her nightstand. She wouldn’t be late for her first day on the job.

The Regent hotel sat directly above the Armory pub, and Rey had barely slept a wink from the noise that echoed through the night. The coalmen got off work late, and stayed out even later. She had faded in and out to the harmony of hoots and hollers, of crashing beer mugs and the occasional sloppy singalong. It should have soothed her, all things considered. The melody of drunken debauchery was the lullaby of her childhood, but these weren’t Traveller songs they sang. She was in England now, and she would never—could _never_ —go back to the fields on the outskirts of Dublin.

He was already at the bar when her feet touched down onto the final step. His cap was pulled low over his eyes, his broad shoulder swathed in a fine black wool coat. It was 6:55, and he held a small glass in his hand, mercifully filled with water. His chin tilted up as she approached, but he didn’t turn to look at her yet. His eyes fixed on the bottles lining the back of the bar, his face smooth and expressionless.

“Morning, miss.”

Rey startled—she hadn’t seen the bartender, BB, behind the bar.

“Morning,” She breathed, giving the stout, round man her best smile.

“Trust you slept well? Jeanie wanted me to ask if the room was to your liking.”

“Oh, yes, it’s more than enough. Thank you.”

The bartender smiled at her, his gaze lingering. He was bald as a babe, and just as round, with ruddy cheeks and a smattering of freckles. She resisted the frown she could feel tugging at her brows as he kept staring. _Can I help you, sir?_

“Ben says you’re from Dublin. Have a cousin there. Mum’s dad was Irish, you see. It’s been ages since I visited. Wouldn’t mind a trip soon, ‘cept ain’t no one to tend the bar. Are you hungry? I could fix you something? Not a drink, of course, but food—”

“Thank you, BB.”

The bartender’s next word died on the breath he sucked back. His eyes, bright, shifted to Ben, and color suffused his cheeks. His grin turned sheepish, and he gave Rey a small nod before disappearing into the back.

_Thank you, BB._ Rey turned to Ben, a brown quirked up.

“That…was rather harsh, don’t you think?”

He still hadn’t looked at her. Nor did he comment on the brusque tone with which he’d dismissed his barman. Ben Solo simply turned back the lapel of his coat and pulled out his cigarette case.

“You take your pill this morning?”

Rey hated that it made her blush. She took a tentative step towards him, her fingertips trailing along the bar top. Cigarette lit, he turned to her then, but now it was Rey who couldn’t meet his eyes. She gave a soft nod.

“There’s been a change of plans. I’ve some business to settle down at the canal, so I’ll be leaving you with Rose this morning. She’s taking the Monday bets and could use the help.”

Rey didn’t have a chance to reply. The moment the word “help” left his lips, Ben Solo turned on his heel and headed for the doors. She scrambled after him.

The air was cold at this hour, the morning fog mixing with the first plumes of coal dust spitting from the factories as the furnaces were lit. Men milled about, opening shops and garages. Windows began to crack wide, sheets coming out to hang on lines strung between the brick buildings of Birmingham’s dirty squares. It hadn’t escaped Rey that the Armory sat in the center of the city’s industrial heart. The streets were more like alleys, full of nooks and crannies and hard faces staring out from the shadows between. No one looked at Ben Solo as he passed, but the eyes that fell on her bore curiosity laced with suspicion.

Ben Solo’s legs were impossibly long, and Rey found she had to practically skip to keep pace with him.

“Mr. Solo, I’d like to apologize for my…state yesterday. I assure you it is not my custom to—”

“Nothing to do with custom, love. It’s nature, simple as that.”

“I know, it’s just,” She barely just dodged a puddle, huffing when it set her further back from him, “I want you to know that whatever your reservations are about hiring me, I won’t disappoint you.”

He chuckled darkly at that. “Oh, I wouldn’t make such a promise yet.”

“What I mean is—” She rushed forward, clasping his elbow. It was enough to halt him, but the look he leveled her had Rey instantly releasing her hold. He continued on.

“Look, this was not my first choice for employment, either. Not my second, third, or fourth, for that matter. But now that I’ve got it, I plan to keep this job. Whatever is asked of me.”

“Whatever is asked of you?”

She didn’t falter. “If you need me to help Rose with the bets, I’ll do it. If you need me to sweep the office floors and empty the spittoons, I’ll do it. If you want me to fetch your suits from the cleaners, I’ll—”

“And if I want you to bend over my desk and lift that homely wool skirt for me, will you do that?”

Rey froze mid-step in the middle of the street. Ben Solo turned and stared at her apathetically, squinting ever so slightly at her through the smoke coming from the cigarette between his lips. He pinched it between his fingers, inhaling.

“No, Mr. Solo. That I will not do.”

A deep exhale. Another slow inhale.

“Good,” He said with finality, “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

And then they were back to walking down the narrow streets of Birmingham.

*****

“Rose, I understand you’ve met Rey already.”

“Yes, Mr. Solo,” Rose smiled tentatively, her eyes shifting to Rey.

“She’ll be assisting you with the books today. I expect she’ll be assisting you quite often from here out. Any work needs doing, she’s at your disposal. See to it you show her the ropes.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Ladies,” Ben murmured, before turned back to the door without another glance at either of them.

Rey took a seat at the end of the table where Rose was settled in front of three large leather-bound books, each placed before a phone. She noted the pencils laid perfectly parallel to each book, all on the right side and finely sharpened. So, Rose was _that_ kind of secretary.

“The bets typically don’t come in until noon, when the workers are on break. Would you like some tea? I was ‘bout to put on a pot.”

The woman seemed kind enough, her eyes wide with that look earnest people had about them. Rey smiled, nodding.

Rose was right about the bets not coming until later. For the first hours of the morning, the phones sat silent, as did most of the office. It seemed that the boys were out collecting bets from those without means to call, and Maz was at the bank. At first, conversation was stilted and awkward, falling in and out of silence when a potential topic fizzled. Rose was Vietnamese, the daughter of immigrants who worked a laundromat in the city’s market square. Rey was tempted to press her on how the daughter of a laundromat owner ended up working for one of England’s most notorious criminal organizations, but the question invited Rose to ask the same. It wasn’t that Rey was ashamed of her background, or that she had so much to hide. But the one secret she did keep was worth saving until she could be sure the secretary was trustworthy. So, she did her best to indulge Rose when the woman asked about Dublin, about what it was like to live out of a wagon, and was it really true Rey could curse someone with no more than a look?

The morning dragged enough that by the time the first phone rang, Rey nearly knocked her teacup off the table in her haste to answer it. As if a spell had been broken, the calls came pouring in after that. Soon, Finn and the redhead they called Armie came running through the front doors, fistfuls of tickets in hand. Maz showed up shortly after, sidestepping the chaos with a bemused glance as she made for her office.

By quarter to three, the worst of it seemed to have passed, and Finn was already pouring a round of whisky while Rose went out to get sandwiches from the shop down the corner.

“So, new girl, you’ve survived your first day of the bets. Impressions?”

Rey ran a shaky hand through her hair. She hadn’t thought to eat that morning, and between the frenzy of the bets and the effects of her morning pill—mild dizziness was common in the beginning, the doctor had said—she was feeling rather light-headed.

“’S good. I like to keep busy. But I think I gave Rose an aneurism with my handwriting. She looked about ready to take my pencil away and have you transcribe.”

Finn laughed at that. “Rose runs a tight ship with the books. Ben likes that.”

Armie tossed the remnants of his whisky back, slamming his glass down on the table.

“So, what the fuck’s a Dubliner doin’ in Birmingham?”

Rey’s brows disappeared into her hairline at the same time Finn slapped the other man upside the head.

“For Christ’s sake, Armie—”

“You a spy? That it? Come to keep tabs on the Knights of Ren? They say you came down the canal. Your boys north have been raising rates on shipments to Manchester. Fookin’ Travellers think they own the whole godsdamned canal system—”

“Enough, Armie.”

Rey eyed the man across from her, doing her best to show him just how little his words affected her. She was used to his type. Hot-headed gangster cronies, always looking for a fight to prove their worth to the outfit. They burned hot and quick. She was surprised he wasn’t more marked up. She imagined that mouth got him into trouble more times than not.

“Actually, the Kenobi’s and the Gray’s aren’t associated. They're Romani. The Kenobi’s are Travellers, comrades more than cousins.”

“You all look the same to me. Shifty, the whole lot o' you. Livin’ out in the open, and yet always under shadow. Always on the _run_.”

Rey smiled softly, but the words struck deeper than Armie could know. It was true. She _was_ on the run.

“Fookin’ hell, Armie. No wonder you don’t have a woman yet.”

Armie’s nostrils flared, and Rey had to turn away to keep him from laughing. It was in that moment that the front door flew open and Rose came barreling inside.

“Go! Everybody get out! They’re coming—”

Her words were cut off by the sound of shots firing in the distance. Everything happened quickly after that.

One moment, Rey was sitting at the table, the next she was under it, shoved down by Finn. Flipping on her side, she tried to look around the chair he’d pushed in front of her, eyes seeking out Rose. The other woman was on the ground, crawling towards the other end of the office away from the door. Armie ran for her, pulling her up at the same time that Maz came rushing out of her office.

“The door, Armie! Get the door!”

Maz was by his side in a moment, taking Rose away. Armie slammed the door, bolting it closed. Shouts could be heard outside, followed by a sharp bang.

“Stay low, away from the windows,” Maz hissed, eyes searching out Rey. “Come, girls.”

Rey scrambled out from under the table, chancing a brief glance at Finn and Armie, who stood before the door with their guns cocked and aiming. Keeping low to the ground, the three women hurried to the back in the direction of Maz and Ben’s office. Before they crossed the threshold, Maz turned them to the right. A table sat in front of a plain paneled wall dressed with nothing but a vase full of dead flowers. Maz gestured for Rose to help her move the table, and Rey’s heart swelled to find a door handle behind it. Maz opened the hidden door to expose the metal hatch leading into a walk-in vault built into the wall.

“In here, in here.”

Rose’s eyes blew wide. “But what about the boys?”

“They’ll be fine. They can hold their own. Boys, secure the back! I’ve got the girls.”

Rey didn’t need more incentive. She stepped inside as the sound of Finn and Armies footsteps carried off down the hall. Rose and Maz followed behind her.

Maz closed the hidden door and sealed the hatch behind her with a heavy _thunk_. The sudden silence that settled around them was almost as terrifying as the sounds of gunfire. The walls of the vault were lined with thick bands of money, and at any other time Rey might have marveled at the sheer volume of wealth hiding in such plain sight. But a sudden bang reverberated through the office, loud enough to pierce the steel walls of the vault.

“Fuck,” Maz bit under her breath, “We just had the door replaced.”

Rose whimpered, pressing close to Rey, and she wrapped the poor secretary under her arm on instinct. The three of them held a collective breath, listening.

The vault’s walls were thick, and at first the only sounds to register were their shared breaths. Rey thought she might have heard a small crash, something like broken glass, followed by the sound of a table being overturned. And then she saw it.

A shape, hazy, like a figure shrouded in mist, coming down an empty street on a cold night. He was tall, almost as tall as Ben, and backlit by a murky red light. He stepped through the door, into her mind’s eye, and gave a look around.

“Rey, honey—” Maz was looking at her.

“Sh, don’t. I think he’s coming this way.”

“Who’s coming this way?” Rose cried, her voice threatening to rise above a whisper. Rey gave her a sharp squeeze, her eyes searching out the figure. He was there, beyond the walls of the vault. She could see him, feel him, sense his measured movements as he stepped through the office. He was searching for something. She had a pretty good idea of what.

“Who knows about this vault?”

“No one but the inner circle. You don’t think—”

Rey held up a hand as the vision before her jerked its faceless head around, staring in their direction. She shivered, overcome at that moment with the oddest sense that he wasn’t just looking towards her, but _at_ her. As if she weren’t the only one staring into that secret space no one else could see, searching for what lay beyond the mist between them…

A sudden chorus of shouts preceded the unmistakable sound of gunfire opening out in the streets. The man froze, turning to the sound. Rey watched him waiver, clearly debating the merits of lingering around for much longer. She could feel his frustration, his resignation, as he turned one last time to look at her through the mist before twisting back and disappearing down the empty street in her mind. Her vision cleared, and she was left staring at the money-laden walls of the vault.

Sounds came to her in pieces then. More gunfire, more shouting, the slap of boots on pavement, on wood. And then someone was yanking open the hidden door and turning the hatch.

Ben Solo towered over them, his hat slightly askew, breaths rattling out of his chest in furious pants. His eyes scanned them quickly, almost clinically, as if he were taking rapid stock of their bodies, cataloging any signs of harm. She noticed the moment he concluded they were fine. His shoulders sagged dramatically. He leaned against the threshold of the vault’s entrance and gave a heavy sigh.

Finn and Armie came up behind him then, both out of breath and jittery with adrenaline. Rey noted the splatters of blood across Finn’s right arm and Armie’s polished shoes, but neither seemed to be harmed. The blood wasn’t theirs.

“What the ever-loving fuck was that, Benjamin?” Maz hissed, pushing past all three men, “Of for the love of—this place is a disaster! Bloody savages!”

Finn opened his arms, and Rose rushed forward, folding herself into him. Armie wiped his gun across his pant leg on a quiet curse and shuffled after them, leaving Ben and Rey staring at each other across the vault.

“It was this he was looking for, wasn’t it?”

Ben frowned. “He?”

“The man…I, I saw a man.”

Ben eyed her, slipping closer until they were both standing in the vault. A wave of euphoria came over her then, and she wondered if she wouldn’t throw herself into his arms like Rose had with Finn. The idea was more than a little appealing, especially now that her legs had begun to shake.

“You saw a man…”

“I,” Her breath caught, and she realized to her horror that her eyes had begun to prick with tears. She gave a sharp shake of her head, and Ben’s gaze softened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t– _ahem_ – I didn’t actually see him, I just—”

“I think you did, Rey. I think you did see a man.”

When she didn’t immediately reply, he took another step closer.

“What man, Rey? What man did you see?”

“He was there. In my mind. It’s like…it’s like looking through a keyhole. It’s all black, but there’s a gap, and if you stare long enough you might see flashes of something. Someone. I don’t, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to describe it—”

“This man, in the keyhole, what did he look like?”

She swallowed the tears in her throat, doing her best to keep the tremor from her voice. Christ, now her hands were shaking, too, it was moving up her arms—

“Rey, look at me.”

Rey hadn’t even realized she’d looked down. Suddenly, Ben was in front of her, cupping her wet cheeks in his hands. They were massive, enveloping her face, fixing her to him. The relief was instantaneous, and she had to grab his wrists to keep her balance.

“Who was the man?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t make out his face, just his shape. He, he was tall. Like you. Tall and broad and wrapped in red—”

He frowned. “Wrapped in red, wrap – what does that mean?”

“His color. I told you. I can see it. The color that people carry about them. His was red, a dark red, like, like blood.”

“And this bloody man, what did he do?”

“He, he was looking for something. I think he knew about the vault. I think, I think he saw me, too.”

Ben’s hands flexed ever so slightly against her face. His jaw was tight, working softly as if he were grinding his teeth. She squeezed his wrists, suddenly terrified he would let her go. She knew she’d collapse if he did.

But he didn’t. His hands moved slowly, sliding down her face to cup her neck. He brushed his thumb over her pulse point, and her eyes fluttered shut on their own accord, but not before she caught his nostrils flare. His hands lingered a moment, then continued on. He clasped her shoulders and pulled her forward, tucking her into his side.

“Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep! What? Who? Why? Hopefully you like cliff hangers because I have...a lot of them planned. But I'm quick to update if incentivized! Pop in the comments and let me know if you're still down for this weird (but wonderful?) ride. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, beautiful people!


	3. Waiting Room, in which the Knight pays a visit to a Flyboy from Camden Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, y'all made my day with your comments and kudos. I'm definitely motivated by feedback, and the more I get the faster I write! So this is me shamelessly asking you to keep the engagement coming :D
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter, and we are still in the set-up stage of the story. Lots of plot points to develop if this fic is gonna stand solid. BUT for all of you thirsty fiends who clicked the A/B/O tag, the next chapter will start to shift into more *risqué* territory. For now, please enjoy everyone's favorite flyboy being unnecessarily extra as always. And for those who haven't seen Peaky Blinders, just know that Alfie Solomons is reason enough to binge the series. But I digress.
> 
> Somethin' strange is afoot, y'all! 
> 
> Chapter song: Waiting Room, by Fugazi (cue me head-bobbing through this whole chapter)

**3**

**Waiting Room, in which the Knight pays a visit to a Flyboy from Camden Town**

They called a family meeting, to which Rey was patently not invited. She sat outside the office’s kitchen, a full glass of whiskey in her hand. Well, it started out full. She was down to the dregs now.

She could hear voices behind the door, the hush of tense whispers punctuated every now and then by a bitter curse (mostly from Armie.) The two men standing watch at the door ignored her for the most part. One cleaned his pistol with a greasy rag. Another was picking at his nails with the tip of a large knife.

The offices were a mess. Tables had been overturned, the glass partitioning certain spaces had been shattered, and pages from Rose’s beloved books had been ripped clean from the bindings. They littered the ground in pulpy shreds, like feathers plucked from a pillow. What didn’t make sense, Rey thought, was the fact that the assailants hadn’t taken anything with them. It was as if they’d come to make a mess, and nothing more. A warning, perhaps? But what about?

She still held to her theory that they’d come for the money vault, despite both Armie and Finn insisting that no one outside of their inner circle knew about it.

“Well, no one but us, and now _you_ ,” Armie had spat. She’d simply rolled her eyes at him.

They’d been in meeting for over an hour. The adrenaline from before had long since faded, and Rey still hadn’t eaten. The whisky soothed her nerves, but it also made her stomach roll softly, and she wondered if she wouldn’t throw it all up the moment she tried to stand. It was either that, or faint. Her head felt like it was full of cotton.

The door clicked open. Armie was the first to step out, offering her no more than a mild sneer as he passed. Rose and Maz followed, whispering to each other. Maz came to Rey first, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart? Your color is ghastly.”

Rey shrugged; what more was there to say? Maz gave Rose’s hand a tug with a “Come, let’s see about getting something into everyone’s stomachs. I’ll not have any more emergencies spoiling what was meant to be a pleasant Monday.”

The women walked back into the kitchen, passing Finn as he emerged. His eyes softened when they fell on Rey, and he pulled up one of the overturned chairs, setting it next to her where she sat on a bench, one of the few still standing.

“And I thought the bets would be the most exciting part of the day,” He chuckled, but it had a weariness to it.

Rey could only snicker, pressing her forehead to the rim of her glass.

“Bit more than you signed up for, I’d imagine…”

She smiled, shaking her head softly. “Come now, you must know I’m not _that_ naïve.”

“It’s one thing to take illegal bets and put up with surly gangsters who’ve got nothing better to do than pick fights over whose got the bigger cock, but this…this was—”

“Something I’m quite used to, actually.”

Finn quirked a brow at that. Rey sighed, pushing back from the table.

“You don’t very well get on in the world of Dubliners without the occasional coup. Disputes aren’t exactly settled at a roundtable—”

“Some are. Some should be. It’s one thing to hit us in the streets. Streets are a fair stage. You come into our city? Alright, we have boys posted ‘round town for such things. But this was an attack on our own house. A break-in. They should have never made it so far. Shouldn’t have been Rose who saw them first…”

Finn stopped then, eyeing her a moment. He cursed then, looking away with a frustrated sigh.

“’S okay, Finn. I get it. And I don’t expect…I mean, you’ve every right to suspect I—”

“Wait, what? No, Rey, I’m not saying it’s _you_ who’s behind this—”

“But I could be, couldn’t I? It’s all rather convenient. I come to town, looking for a job, and the next day the offices are stormed? If I was Ben, I’d—”

“You’d what?”

Their heads snapped up. Ben stood in the entrance to the kitchen, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips. He’d removed his hat and coat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up again. His hair was especially messy now, as if he’d spent the last hour running his fingers through it. But his expression was calm, almost vacant, as he stared down at Rey with those unyielding malt whisky eyes.

“I’d suspect me.”

Ben sucked in smoke, and he seemed to suck up the rest of the air in the room with it. Even Finn was holding his breath beside Rey. Yet she didn’t feel fear as she burned beneath the hard gaze of Birmingham’s notorious Black Knight.

“And should I? Suspect you?”

It took her a moment to find her words, lost in that dark gaze. It took her out of her body. Made her forget where she was, who she was, the when and where and why of it all. Did he even know he was doing it? Did she even understand _what_ he was doing? Maybe she was going to pass out, after all.

“No, not for this.”

That seemed to intrigue him. He cocked his head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing and the corner of his mouth twitching. If she didn’t know any better, Rey thought he might be biting back a smile.

But this was Benjamin Solo, and he didn’t smile. Another deep drag, and he exhaled.

“Finn, get the car ready.”

“We’re going now?”

“When else would we go?”

Finn was wiser the second time around; he gave a firm nod and left without further protest.

“Going where?” Rey asked before she could stop herself.

“Camden Town. Seems we might have some business to settle with Poe Dameron.”

“Dameron? The Breakmaker?”

“The same.”

“But…I thought you two worked together? Up in Manchester they say you charge a fair rate to run Dameron’s rum to the ports shipping out to Boston. Say the price is almost as good as what Jinn was getting before you took out the distillery. Hell, I always thought that’s part of why you blew it up. Crates only started coming up from Camden Town after Jinn lost his market in the States.”

“You’re showing your cards right now, you know that? If I hadn’t suspected you before for the attack, I’d have plenty of reason to now. Seems you’ve done your research on my enterprises, Ms. Kenobi.”

Rey swallowed, but kept her chin held high. “I like to know who I’m working for.”

“And why _are_ you working for me, cailín?” He stepped forward then, slowly advancing until he was all but looming over her. Hell, he even bent a bit at the waist to blow a plume of smoke in her face. The ash made her dizzy, but there was something else on it. A taste of something dark, rich. A taste of him.

“You said I was not your first choice of employment. Not even your fourth, as I recall. So why seek me out? Was it so impossible to find some desk job in a Dublin office? Are Travellers so reviled that you can’t even land work in a pub cleaning toilets? Or maybe you fell out with the wrong people, made enemies somewhere. And the only refuge for a gangster’s granddaughter in our world is in the arms of another gangster.”

Rey said nothing. There was no point; he already knew. Perhaps he’d always known. The question was: for how long, and how much? 

“Here we are. Egg and cress, toasted.”

Rey nearly fell out of her seat at the sound of Maz’s voice. Ben remained unfazed, uncurling himself lazily to stand at his full height. He didn’t bother to step back, letting Maz press into him to hand Rey the plate. The sandwich smelled good—warm and buttery. Rey gave Maz a tremulous smile, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking as she took the plate.

She was an idiot. Of course he would have done his research. A man of Benjamin Solo’s standing didn’t reach such a position without earning it. There were thugs, and there were bosses. To make it in this world, both needed to be ruthless. But only one needed to be smart, too.

“Thank you, Maz.”

Rose came out then, another plate in hand. “Ben, would you like—”

“That’s quite alright Rose, we’ll be going soon. But a napkin would be good. Can’t have Ms. Kenobi spilling egg in the Bentley.”

“What?” All three women said in unison.

“Grab your coat, Rey,” Ben murmured around his cigarette, “We’re going to London.”

*****

They took two cars—a Bentley and a Vauxhall—and four spare men. Armie rode with Ben and two others in the Bentley, while Finn took Rey and the remaining reinforcements in the Vauxhall. She rode shotgun, doing her best to watch the road so as not to let her egg and cress make an unwelcome reappearance on the car’s luxury interior. She supposed the nausea couldn’t be helped—it’s what you got for having pills and liquor before breakfast. She also had the sneaking suspicious it would have been worse riding in Ben’s car. At least here she didn’t have to deal with his smell, which made her skin flash hot in a way that quicky grew unpleasant, not least because it got worse with time and the drive to London was _not_ short.

Rey had only been to London a few times in her life, each visit made with her grandfather on business. Travellers didn’t do well in big cities for long, and she always found it hard to understand how people could spend their lives crowded together under a permanent cloud of coal smoke and the stench of urban decay. The roads were clogged at the late hour. The blare of horns and cries of people hawking who-knows-what from the streets only aggravated the growing ache in her temple.

Why had he brought her along? Perhaps he didn’t trust her to stay behind when he wasn’t there. Rey couldn’t blame him. The Knights of Ren had just fended off an unknown attack on their own soil, and she was the granddaughter of an old enemy. Ben had given Rey a job because he had made a promise, but he was under no obligation to trust her.

They eventually turned off the main road and drove down an alley, stopping in front of the entrance to a brick-faced warehouse. A young boy, no more than ten, stood outside the door. His clothes were modest—hell, he had a hole in the toe of one boot—but round his neck he wore a fine white silk tie, an aviator scarf like the ones men had worn in the War. There was no mistaking the mark of a flyboy.

“Alright, then,” Armie grumbled, throwing open the door of the Bentley and motioning to the boy, “Off you go.”

The boy said nothing, just turned and slipped behind the door, letting it close after him with a hard bang. Finn helped Rey down from the Vauxhall, and her eyes instantly sought out Ben. He was coming around the Bentley, meeting her gaze before looking away sharply as if he’d not meant to. He muttered something to the other men from his car, no doubt instructing them to stay and stand guard. The boy was back in a moment, this time with two men of his own behind him. Both wore the same white scarf.

They searched everyone before they let them in, including Rey. She did her best not to flinch at the rough pats to her waist and arms, catching something dark cross Ben’s face as he watched. And then they were slipping inside and following the two men into the cargo bay of what had to be one of the biggest distilleries Rey had ever seen. The men with the silk scarves led them deeper into the warehouse.

“Boss is in the cellar, finishing up with some bottling. Says he’ll meet you in the tank room when he’s done.”

“Like hell he will,” Armie snarled, pushing up to the man who’d spoken, “You go and tell Dameron that Ben Solo did not drive all the way to _fookin’_ Camden Town—”

“Armie, enough.” Ben held up a hand, the other tucked lax in his coat pocket. Armie huffed, but stepped down. The flyboy snickered softly and continued on.

The tank room was smaller than the cargo bay, but still impressive, with three copper stills and five matching tanks lining its four walls. The cement floors gleamed from recent cleaning beneath warm light coming from two lone Edison bulbs dangling overhead. A table of plain, unfinished wood sat in the center of the room, two chairs on each side. The flyboys let their party pass first before taking up their posts at the doors.

Armie sneered at the guards and turned to whisper at Ben. “Fookin’ Dameron. Always a powertrip, makin’ you wait just to see if he can get a rise outta you…”

“He certainly got a rise out _you_ , didn’t he?” Ben murmured almost conversationally, ignoring the way Armie’s face twisted. The other men who’d come with them lingered at the periphery of the room, experts in being neither seen nor heard. Finn saddled up to Rey, his smile easy. But she didn’t miss the hard look he shot Dameron’s guards, or the way his arm softly brushed hers.

“You okay?” He whispered between his teeth, letting his eyes roam the tank room absently.

“Fine, thanks,” She muttered back, making sure not to meet anyone’s gaze. She’d sat in on enough contentious business meetings in back-alley establishments to know a woman’s best course of action at these gatherings was to make herself invisible. She found a shadow beneath a tank and assumed position, giving Finn a small smile to assure him all was well. At least, well _enough._

Voices echoed down the hall outside the door, and then he was walking into the room, barreling past everyone and making straight for the table. The first thing Rey noticed was that he was much shorter than she expected. Younger, too. And then he opened his mouth.

“Right, ‘ello Ben, sorry ‘bout that. Bit busy this week, shipment due to go out tomorrow. Got a new line running through Boston to Chicago, right, lots o’ thirsty men what ain’t got no liquor to quench it in the whole bloody US of A. Prohibition is a right nasty bitch for morale, but it’s brilliant for business, I have _never_ made so much bread in my whole fookin’ life, mate. I tell you, been baking night and day, can’t keep my hands free o’ the flour. My fookin’ nails smell like paint thinner, but you never did taste rum so good, mate. Best of my life I is makin’ these days, mate. Best of my life.”

Rey wasn’t sure the man had taken a single breath since he’d started speaking. He turned around to face them from the opposite side of the table and gave a clap.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Benny Boy?”

Armie’s face was red. Rey could feel Finn tense at her side, and she wondered if even Ben’s admonishment was enough to keep the other man from blowing his top. But Ben seemed unconcerned, his face a perfect mask of polite apathy.

“Evening Poe.”

Poe Dameron, the Breadmaker of Camden Town, was dressed in khaki dungarees and a white work shirt, his black hair brushed back from his forehead as if by his own fingers. He wore no white scarf, and if Rey were to see him out on the street, she’d be hard-pressed to tell him apart from any of the thousands of coal and steel workers making 10 shilling a day. His tanned face was handsome, but there was a rogue curl to his smile and a flintiness in his eyes that made you look twice. They said he was a decorated pilot, had flown over France during the War. Her grandfather had done a few deals with Dameron over the years—provided protection for some of his first shipments of rum before he secured a stable route along the Birmingham canal with the Knights of Ren. He was a brilliant businessman and a tough negotiator. He was also fucking crazy.

“Yeah, evening Ben. Heard you had a bit of trouble on the canal today.”

“The canal, the office…” Ben motioned to the table, “Mind if I sit?”

“No, quite alright, ‘s what it’s for. Saul, would you go get us some o’ last season’s white gold? You drink white rum, yeah Ben? Can’t never remember if you’re a white or amber man—”

“Neither, but I’ll take some whisky if you have it.”

Poe slapped a hand to his chest. “Mr. Solo, I am a _breadmaker_.”

“And yet, more grain in whisky than rum, isn’t there?”

Poe harrumphed, yanking his chair out but not before dismissing his man to fetch a bottle of rum _and_ whisky.

“Yes, well, I’m quite busy Ben so be quick about it, yeah? What’s old Poe to do for you?”

Ben reached into his coat and pulled out a single white scarf. He laid it carefully onto the table, smoothing the fabric with his hands until it lay flat and creaseless. Then he leaned back and waited.

Poe Dameron rested an elbow on the table, cupping a hand over his mouth. He sat like that for some time, a gruff hum vibrating in the back of his throat. His brows furrowed, and he pointed at the corner of the scarf.

“Oy, what’s that?”

“Blood. Man who was wearing this took a bullet to the stomach. Bit of the spray caught the tip of the scarf.”

“Oh, well that’s a shame. Hard stain to get out, blood is. Hardest on white linen.”

“Linen.”

“Yeah, mate. Linen.” Poe tapped at the scrap of fabric. “This scarf is made o’ linen.”

When Ben made no reply, Poe snapped his fingers and motioned for his other man to come forward.

“Johnny, gimme your scarf a moment, would you?”

The man pulled the scarf from his throat and tossed it to his boss. Poe held it up with raised brows, then spread it out on the table beside the blood-stained one.

“See? Ain’t got the sheen o’ silk, does it? Bit thinner, and darker. This scarf is linen, Ben. Ain’t one of my boys.”

“Bullshit,” Armie finally exploded, “You can’t possible think—”

Finn was right there, dragging the redhead back from the table and shaking his head. Poe’s eyes snapped up to Armie, a wide smile spreading across his face.

“Christ, Ben, I think your bulldog’s 'bout to piss in my tank room. Might want to take him out before he has an accident, don’t ya think?”

Armie growled, but Ben gave Finn a signal and then both men were leaving the room, Finn leading Armie who was now all but barking like the dog Poe accused him of being.

“Right then, as you can see this is not one of my men, so—”

“And the boat?”

“I’m sorry?”

Ben leaned forward, folding his hands together over the bloodstained scarf that was _linen_ , not silk.

“The boat that rolled down the canal today carrying twenty crates of your rum and the body of one of my men with a bullet in his skull.”

That made Poe mad.

“Right, now Ben, you can’t expect me to let a two-bit doc worker what’s got nothing to do with me sneaking from my shipment and selling bootleg in _my_ town. You gotta vet your employees better than that.”

“And I’m to believe you.”

“Well, yeah. It was _your_ uncle who checked the boxes and reported that some bottles had been emptied. We searched the boat when your man came to collect the crates and found a box o’ fresh ones he was planning on filling with my product. _My_ product, Ben. You’re lucky I put that bullet in his head, not yours. God knows how much rum he’d already stole from me. In fact, I’ll be billing you for the trouble, seeing as how I’m the one paying you for this service and you can’t even keep your men’s hands off my merchandise. You know, if _anyone_ should be mad—”

“Alright, alright,” Ben batted at the Breadmaker, “I thank you for doing me the favor of relieving me of an untrustworthy man. But that doesn’t solve our problem.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. See, Poe, someone tried to break into my offices wearing a flyboy scarf on the same day that I was called down to the docs to deal with a body in a boat coming up from Camden Town. So, either you’re lying to me, or whoever attacked my offices knew about your boat and wanted to frame you for the hit.”

That seemed to shut Poe up. His eyes flickered from Ben’s face to the scarf, and back again. As the seconds passed, his face twisted tighter with frustration.

“Fookin’ hell, mate.”

Ben leaned back, scratching his chin. It was then that Poe finally seemed to register Rey’s presence. A singular dark brow arched. He pointed a finger at her.

“Right, who is she? Who are you?”

Rey turned to Ben, eyes wide. Was she expected to speak?

“Poe, this is Rey, my new…secretary.”

That seemed to confuse Poe even more.

“You brought your secretary to a meeting about a dead boatman and a break-in.”

“Rey was there. She got a look at the man.”

Rey felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, but she kept her expression blank. Poe’s brows drew up.

“Did she now? And, what, you thought I’d line up my men against the wall and have her pick ‘im out? Christ, Ben.”

“Not sure why you’re concerned, Poe, seeing as how you insist it wasn’t your men who hit me offices.”

“Concerned? No. Offended? Fookin’ absolutely, you bastard. I’ve been nothing but good to you and your business—oy, why are you smiling?”

“You put Armie in jail.”

“But I got him out of it, didn’t I? Besides, he had it coming. Could have put him in a grave, should be happy I settled for a cell. What else?”

“Russians.”

“You were stupid to even go into business with them, and stupider to think I would settle for such a small cut.”

It was fascinating, watching them. Rey thought she might be able to stand in the shadow of that tank for hours, listening to these two men—two of the most powerful men in England—bicker like old maids.

Poe’s man came back then, a bottle of rum in one hand, a bottle of whisky in another. But Ben lifted a hand with a shake of the head when the flyboy made to pour him his drink.

“’S alright, I believe we’ve finished here.”

He stood from the table, tapping the bloodstained scarf still spread between them.

“Ain’t nothing good to come of this, Poe. Someone’s trying to turn us against each other. Someone’s got their eyes on both Birmingham and Camden Town.”

Poe rubbed a hand roughly across his mouth, glaring at the scarf.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll put the men out tonight, see what they can find.”

“Good. Rey.”

Ben nodded towards the door, and Rey stepped out from the comfort of the shadows.

“Wait.”

Both of them froze as Poe pushed up from his seat and came around the table to stop in front of Rey. They stood at the same level, bringing their eyes in line. He studied her face, those flinty eyes making secret calculations. She resisted the shiver twisting her gut from the inside.

“What did he look like?”

“Pardon?” Her voice was thick, the word cracking at the end.

“The man you saw.”

“I,” She chanced a glance back at Ben, who gave her a soft nod, “I couldn’t say. I didn’t see his face, just his shape. He was large, wore a hat and trench coat. He had something…sinister about him.”

Poe studied her a moment more, nodding his head softly.

“Yeah, well, 'bout every man whose any man fits that description. Not sure how you thought she’d pick him out among mine, but very well. I’ll keep my eyes open. Thank you, Rey.”

“Yes, Mr. Dameron,” Rey breathed, then turned and all but ran to Ben’s side. They were halfway to the door when Poe spoke again.

“Oh, Ben? I mean it, I’m sending a bill. And next time one of your boys tries to pop open a crate of mine, it’ll be your skull I put the bullet through.”


	4. Annabelle Lee, in which the Traveller sings a siren song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:
> 
> 1\. THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THIS FIC! I'm serious, I get so giggly and happy when I read your lovely comments. Keep 'em coming! It truly means the world to me :)
> 
> 2\. I am pleased to fiiiiinally present you all with some A/B/O goodness. As the tags make clear, my approach to alpha/omega dynamics will be a bit non-tradish in this fic, but I hope you find this chapter properly *scintillating* and that it restores your faith in the direction of this fic (I'm lookin' at those of you who've thought something along the lines of ..."but when are they gonna bang?")
> 
> 3\. All songs with lyrics referenced in this chapter are based on covers by Sarah Jarosz. If you're like me and enjoy an immersive reading experience, I suggest giving them a listen! Please see below for deets.
> 
> Happy reading, y'all!
> 
> Chapter Songs: 'Shankill Butchers' and 'Annabelle Lee', by Sarah Jarosz

**4**

**Annabelle Lee, in which the Traveller sings a siren song**

“I want to hold a pub session.”

Ben Solo pulled his newsboy cap off and set it on the bar top, staring down at it. It was the first time she’d seen his face, even in profile, in almost two weeks. The last time had been when they made the drive back to Birmingham from Camden Town in the fog of night. He’d dropped her off on the steps of the Armory with little more than a nod and a gruff “goodnight.” The following morning, when she’d walked down to the offices, she’d found he was already out for the day.

Ben had still given her orders, just not directly. A note for her, left with Maz. An errand for her, relayed to Finn. Ben had been merciful not to put Rey to work with Armie, though his responsibilities seemed to fall squarely under the umbrella of ‘enforcement,’ which she could offer little help in. One morning, she’d come down from her rooms above the pub to find BB behind the bar. He’d grinned broadly once he saw her.

“Morning, Ms. Rey. Boss says you’ll be with me today.”

Tending bar was work Rey was familiar with. She’d spent a few summers of her adolescence working at one of her aunt’s pubs in Manchester, learning to pour whisky and gin before she could even drink it. Gwen Phasma—The Madam of Manchester, they called her—owned a chain of establishments that ranged from high-brow lounges to the seediest taverns in all of the United Kingdom. After Rey’s first heat, her grandfather sent her to stay with Aunt Phasma for the summer. Though he never did say it outright, she knew he feared another heat claiming her, and the mess that would follow. She’d been afraid—she’d only met her aunt once, many years before—but the trip ended up being the best part of her presenting as an omega. Gwen Phasma was a formidable woman whose cadre of girls—orphan Annies, as they were known—helped her run what might have been the only matriarchal gang in history. Phasma and the Annies took Rey in, teaching her how to tend bar, how to pick pockets, and how to seduce drunks into precarious positions they could be blackmailed for later. The Madam of Manchester was the only boss, male or female, who had an entire city council _and_ two members of parliament in her pocket after ‘someone’ managed to procure a particularly damning photo of an orgy hosted in one of her VIP lounges. Whips and horse tails may have been present.

Despite his best efforts, it became immediately apparent to Rey that BB was barely treading water as pub manager. He had a backlog of paperwork in the crummy office next to the liquor stores, which were a disorganized mess buried under mountains of storage that looked more personal than official.

“BB, why are there so many fishing poles back here? Ain’t any fish in the canal.”

“Right, those were me brother’s. We grew up in the country, on the river,” He had said with a blush, taking the four poles she’d pulled from behind a crate of whisky and setting them out in the hall. A substantial pile had begun to amass, its contents ranging from a broken phonograph to a picnic basket full of knitting yarn and a model train set.

“Right, well, it might be time to retire them to…BB. Is this…?”

“Ah, yes. That, too, would be my brother’s.”

She’d found the mandolin tucked behind a crate of empty bottles, its black leather case crusted over with what must have been several years’ worth of dust.

Snapping open the closures and lifting the lid had felt like something akin to opening a present on Christmas morning. For how battered the case was, the mandolin tucked inside its red velvet walls was in shockingly good condition. When Rey’s fingers had traced its delicate strings, something inside her had sighed.

For as long as she could remember, Rey carried a song in her heart. She’d grown up around great fires, listening to old stories plucked out on strings. She had studied human history, the great poems and tragedies, all rendered in ballads and solemn laments. As soon as she’d had enough mind and patience for it, she’d picked up the first instrument she could find—her mother’s mandolin—and committed every thought, feeling, dream, and heartbreak she had to song.

“Your brother played?”

BB had smiled, but his eyes were sad.

“He did. Arthur was a fine musician, was my brother. Called him R-2, bit of a joke from our youth. You see, he was me older brother, and when we was little I couldn’t quite pronounce the ‘th’, or the ‘r’ for that matter. You know, he taught himself to read music when he hadn’t much learned to read English. He just had a knack for things like that. Was always whistling a tune, always fiddling on them strings.”

BB had reached around her then, pushing away a few more crates to pull out another leather case. Inside was a fiddle.

“He gave me this for me tenth birthday. Got a job in the coal factory and saved up a month’s wages to pay for it.”

“And where is he now? Your brother?”

BB’s smile had wavered then, and he’d given a soft sigh.

“He died, in the War. Went over with Benny and some other boys from town. Tunnelers, the lot of ‘em. Lost him in a tunnel collapse in France.”

“BB, I am so sorry…”

The man had shrugged, his eyes misted. Then he’d patted her knee, nodding at the mandolin in her lap.

“You play?”

She’d nodded. “It’s been at least a year since I picked one up, though. Do you mind…?”

That time, the smile he’d given her was real.

“Knowing my brother, nothing would please him more.”

They had spent the rest of the evening sharing songs on the floor of the storage room. BB turned out to be an exceptional fiddler. He picked up the songs Rey taught him almost instantly, and by nightfall they’d perfected duets of _Maid Behind the Bar_ and _Big John McNeil_.

The next day, when Rey had entered the bar, she’d found BB talking to a thin, tall man with round glasses and an anxious air.

“Ms. Rey! This here’s my friend, 3-PO.”

Rey must have shown her confusion, because BB had laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder.

“Right, sorry, this here is Peter Owens III. Excuse the nickname, but there are about four other Peter Owens in Birmingham, one o’ them being his father.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, m’lady,” The man had said with grave sincerity, taking a dramatic bow. Rey had to bite her lip to keep from snickering. Another character, then. BB kept colorful company.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Owens.”

“Please, call me 3-PO. My good man BB has made it known to me that you are an aficionado of the musical arts.”

“Ah, not sure I’d call myself an _aficionado_ —”

“Ms. Rey plays such _beautiful_ mandolin, 3-PO. Fingers swift as swallows. Reminds me of R-2—”

“BB, you are too kind—”

“And she can _sing!_ Oh, she’s got a lovely singing voice. And she knows so many songs!—”

“BB,” 3-PO had cut in then, his tone cautious, “I hope you’re not suggesting…”

BB’s face had pinkened a bit, and he’d scraped at an imaginary spot on the bar top. “No, no, of course not. Just a bit of messin’ around ‘s all. Just us. We can keep it after hours, or early morning.”

“Good,” 3-PO had visibly relaxed, “Because you know we can’t…”

“Right, right, I know. Like I said, just thought we’d do a bit of playin’ after hours. Just the three of us—”

“Sorry,” Rey had lifted a hand, “I’m not following. What can’t you do?”

And that’s how she’d ended up leaving a note with Maz for Ben to meet her that morning at the Armory—to convince him to let her and the men hold a pub session that evening.

As BB and 3-PO explained it, pub sessions had been commonplace in the Armory before the War. R-2, 3-PO, and BB gathered every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday to play jigs and reels and tell old wives’ tales to the men who congregated round the pub’s round tables for a pint after a hard day in the factories. 3-PO played cello, BB the fiddle, and R-2 would sing to the tune he plucked out on his mandolin. But R-2 never came back from the War, and the men who did had lost their taste for music. One of those men was Ben Solo, who’d effectively banned music from his pub ever since.

So there Rey stood, staring at the profile of the man in question, with one hand clasping the handle of R-2’s mandolin case and the other fisting her skirt—for courage or fear, she could not tell.

Ben spun his hat atop the bar. “You want to hold a pub session.”

“Yes, tonight. With BB and 3-PO.”

He said nothing. Just kept spinning his hat.

“It’s Friday,” She pushed on, setting the case atop the bar, “The men will be coming in earlier, staying later. We just got new shipments of scotch and Irish whisky, and today was payday at the coal mills _and_ the docs—”

“Indeed, it’s our busiest night. We hardly need to incentivize anyone to spend their money.”

“Perhaps not, but we charge for entrance to the session and make double on an already profitable evening.”

He finally shot her a sidelong glance.

“ _And_ we hook them for next Tuesday and Thursday, which _are_ slow nights.”

“You’ve given this some thought. But you’re basing your plan on the assumption that they’ll want to come back.”

“They will.”

He smirked the barest of smirks, finally turning to her fully.

“That good, are you?”

Something about his tone made her blush, but she lifted her chin and gave him a single, firm nod. He rubbed a thumb across his lip, contemplating her.

“Show me.”

She’d been ready for this. It’s why she’d brought the mandolin with her. Still, her fingers shook ever so slightly as she unclasped the snaps of the case and pulled out the instrument.

“Right. Please have a seat, Mr. Solo.”

Again, that subtle smirk. The Black Knight of Birmingham strolled leisurely to the center of the room and pulled out a chair, turning it to face her. He sat down and let his long legs spread out in front of him, throwing one arm across the back of the chair.

“The stage is yours, Ms. Kenobi.”

For all she had prepared, she could not have anticipated the effect of seeing him seated so casually. His black wool coat fell open around him. He wore black dress paints and a charcoal vest over a white button-down, each item perfectly tailored to his tall, broad frame. His hair was styled today, but still long, the thick black waves resisting the comb he’d used. It was a testament to the man, that he managed to look so put together and yet still hold an edge of wildness to him. As if all the fine clothes and jewels and money in the world could never totally turn him into a polite civilian. Even now, sitting there, his dark gaze singularly focused on her, Rey felt as if she were standing in the line of sight of a predator just moments from pouncing. She cleared her throat and placed her fingers on the strings.

_The Shankill Butchers ride tonight, you better shut your windows tight_

_They’re sharpening their cleavers and their knives_

_And taking all their whisky by the pint_

Her voice quivered on the first verse, but her fingers never faltered. By the second verse, her nerves gave over to the music, and by the third, she let her eyes slide closed as the song took her.

_'Cause everybody knows...  
If you don't mind your mother's words  
A wicked wind will blow  
Your ribbons from your curls  
Everybody moan, everybody shake  
The Shankill Butchers wanna catch you awake_

She opened her eyes to find him just where she’d left him, legs spread and arm slung over the back of his chair. His face gave nothing away.

_They used to be just like me and you  
They used to be sweet little boys  
But something went horribly askew  
Now killing is their only source of joy_

He looked like a statue, watching her with an impenetrable gaze as she finished the song.

_'Cause everybody knows...  
If you don't mind your mother's words  
A wicked wind will blow  
Your ribbons from your curls  
Everybody moan, everybody shake  
The Shankill Butchers wanna catch you…awake_

Her fingers plucked at the final chords, and silence fell around them.

He said nothing. Rey shuffled in place, gripping the neck of the mandolin and clearing her suddenly thick throat.

“Well?”

“What time would this session begin?”

She felt hope swell in her chest. “Eight.”

Ben Solo stood slowly from the chair. He walked back to the bar and grabbed his cap, tugging it over his head before pulling his cigarette case from inside his coat.

“Be sure to charge admission at the door.”

With that, he lit his cigarette and left.

*******

The pub was positively packed. Rose had come in earlier to help with filling the orders, giving Rey time to sneak upstairs to her room and change into something a bit more presentable. She’d brought very little with her—two skirts, three blouses, and a single green and white gingham dress.

She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. The dress, like everything else she owned, originally belonged to one of Phasma’s Annies. The girl’d had more bust than Rey, and the dress gapped ever so slightly where the buttons closed across her chest. She’d pulled half of her shoulder-length hair back with a black velvet ribbon, one of the few things she’d taken with her after she left Dublin. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the pub and the finger of whisky she’d shot with Rose in the storage room before coming up to change.

A knock sounded at the door. “Rey? It’s Finn. They’re ready for you.”

“Coming!”

Finn let out a low whistle when she opened the door. “Damn, Travellin’ girl. You clean up nice.”

The words coming from anyone else might have sounded lecherous, but Finn’s grin was nothing but appreciative and warm. Rey smiled and gave a mock bow before turning back to her bed and grabbing the mandolin case.

“My Lady,” He gave a flourish, extending his arm.

“Why thank you, good Sir,” She preened, linking their arms and letting him walk her down the hall towards the stairs.

Men crowded around the pub’s roundtables, yelling and laughing and already sloshing their beer on the floor. More bodies pressed against the walls and packed into shadowy booths. A huddle of men in the far corner seemed to be rolling dice, if the sudden shouts of dismay and glee were any indication.

“Attention, gentleman!”

What seemed like a hundred faces turned to them as Finn and Rey stepped off the final step and into the pub hall. BB and 3-PO were already set up at a table pulled close to the bar. BB beamed at Rey as she saddled up next to him.

“Oh, this is so exciting! I can’t remember the last time I felt so nervous. It’s be ages since we played for such a crowd.”

Finn and Armie had begun to make their rounds through the room, hushing the men with words and a few choice slaps upside the head. And then all eyes were on Rey as she opened the case and pulled out the mandolin.

“Right,” She coughed with a chuckle, “Um, thank you all for coming…”

She scanned the room, noting a few lingering eyes, a few more than appreciative stares running the length of her legs. Most men just looked happy. Happy to be there, happy to be done with work, happy to have a week’s wages in their pockets and warm liquor in their bellies. Some smiled at her, others already had that glazed look in their eyes.

None of the faces staring back at her were Ben’s.

“Thank you for having us, sweet lass!”

The voice came from somewhere in the crowd, and a number of men hooted and whistled, a few claps ringing out above the collective appreciation. She smiled, trying her best to focus. It shouldn’t surprise her that he hadn’t come.

Behind her, 3-PO pressed the bow of his cello to string, the deep hum of the opening note piercing the lingering chuckles and whispers. A hush fell over the crowd.

Rey lifted the mandolin and began to play.

Growing up, Rey had always loved poetry. Unlike novels, poems packed entire histories and epics into a song’s worth of lines, a lifetime of feeling you could tuck under your tongue and summon anytime, anyplace. Poems were songs without melody, and she’d taken to writing tunes to fit her favorite ones. Such was the case with Annabelle Lee, an Edgar Allen Poe poem that her grandfather had recited one night over a summer’s bonfire. She loved Poe, loved the way he put light and dark together to make something so beautiful and yet so utterly heartbreaking. Seemed to her that most of life was like that. Bittersweet.

That was the song she’d chosen for tonight.

_Many a year ago  
In a kingdom by the sea  
There lived a maiden you may know  
By the name of Annabelle Lee  
No other thought did trouble her mind  
But to love and be loved by me_

It was always her favorite part, watching the way the music took hold. The way conversations came to a slow halt, and wandering eyes fixed suddenly on her fingers where they plucked out the chords. She could feel the spell settling over the crowd, the way men pressed their mugs to their chests and swallowed as the music wove its fingers round them, and squeezed.

_We were children both  
In this kingdom by the sea  
But we loved with a love that was more than love  
I and my Annabelle Lee  
With a love that the winged angels high  
Coveted her and me_

Behind her, BB sang in harmony, his bow slipping slow and somber over his fiddle strings. 3-PO’s cello picked up pace, holding down the melodies she and BB plucked out, grounding them in a deeper rhythm. Her legs began to twitch; she’d always had a hard time holding still when she played.

_This was the reason long ago  
In this kingdom by the sea  
A wind blew from a stormy cloud  
That took my Annabelle Lee  
Then her wicked brothers came  
To steal her away from me_

She began to pace. At first, she tracked a small circuit beside the other men, but as the music grew, she found herself meandering through the labyrinth of tables, past men with beer foam on their lips and stars in their eyes.

She was halfway round the room, already passed the door, when he came in. She felt him before she saw him, could barely make him out at first. He kept his head down, the top of his hat just visible above the crowd. She was already coming around to the other side of the room, each step she took putting distance between them. And yet she could feel his eyes on her, following, tracking her in that way he did.

_They shut her up in a tomb below  
This kingdom by the sea  
But no maiden's grave could sever my soul  
From the love she bore for me  
For the moon don't beam without a dream_

_Of my darling Annabelle Lee_

A sheen of mist had broken out on her skin, the heat of the pub and the effort of her playing making her flush pink and hot. She could see the way certain men’s heads titled, as if they could sense it, smell it on her. She’d taken her pill that morning, but it was late now, and she could both see and feel the effects of its thinning hold on her. As she passed a group of men, one pulled out a chair, and she stepped up onto it, turning to face the gathering.

_For many years I've wandered  
Through this kingdom by the sea  
I've laid myself beside the bones  
Of my beautiful Annabelle Lee  
I'll make my bed near the rising tide  
In her tomb by the sounding sea_

Their eyes locked. He watched her from beneath the brim of his hat, she from her perch atop the chair. She looked away as the final chords set in, focusing on her fingers as they plucked out the last notes to finish with a resounding flourish.

A moment of silence followed, and then…

The crowd erupted in cheers. Men clapped and sloshed their bear, pressing their fingers to their lips to whistle. Rey looked up, not at Ben but at BB and 3-PO, who sat across the bar with broad grins splitting their faces. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, wiping the back of her hand against her temple. She nodded at both the men.

“ _Old Smitty_ , on 1, 2, 3…”

They played well into the night. By the time midnight struck, men were up and dancing, singing along in a raucous chorus Rey was sure could be heard all across Birmingham.

“ _If you’re gonna raise a ruckus, one word of advice,_ ” BB sang from his corner of the bar.

“If you’re gonna do wrong, better do wrong right!” The crowd yelled back.

Rose and Finn were atop the bar, dancing up and down its long copper length. Armie had his arm around one of the Knights of Ren, singing horribly off key and sloshing beer all over his shiny black shoes.

Rey still stood on the chair, her fingers chapped from playing so long. But it was heaven, being like this. It felt like home.

Ben was long gone, having left shortly after the first song. It stung initially, and Rey had to beat back a sense of dread she could not quite explain. The thought of displeasing him made her feel physically ill, but then someone had handed her another shot of whisky and asked for an Irish jig, and that was the end of it. She’d played without pause, her voice long gone horse and her limbs like rubber. She hadn’t felt this good in ages.

They started winding down at 2am, lulling the crowd with old lullabies and maiden’s laments. By 3am, the last of the men had spilled out onto the empty streets of Birmingham, stumbling home under the light of the moon. BB attempted to start cleaning up, but he didn’t have it in him to resist Rey when she shooed him towards the stairs leading up to their rooms.

She stood in the middle of the pub, her dress and hair sticky with sweat, and surveyed the damage. A few chairs had been overturned in the throes of dancing, and a mug lay shattered beneath a stool at the bar. The whole place smelled of booze, cigarette smoke, and sweat. It was the smell of a solid show, a job well done.

Rey’s head was thick with whisky and euphoria, making her stumble over her own feet as she walked to the back of the pub. She slipped into the hallway leading to the cellar and the office across from it. She’d probably spent more time in that office than Ben had in all the years he’d owned the pub. When she’d first cracked open the door a week ago, she’d found the small room covered in a film of dust and thick with old air.

Her hand was already wrapped around the knob when something soft thudded behind her. She turned to see the door to the cellar, left open. Funny, she could have sworn she’d locked it this morning—

She took a step forward just as a hand slip across her mouth, another fumbling around her waist to grip her hip in a punishing hold. Her scream died in her throat.

The light in the hallway was dim, and she could hardly make anything out between the haze of liquor, exhaustion, and fear. Her front collided with the opposite wall and the stench of alcohol and sweat filled her senses, threatening to suffocate her along with the hand smothering her face. She reached out blindly, hands slapping against the wall before her assailant gathered her wrists in his grip and squeezed hard.

Her first thought was that they’d finally found her. They’d found her and it was all going to be over in a moment. She had to admit, the thought wasn’t wholly unappealing. She’d long tired of running, tired of the constant bite of fear nibbling at the back of her thoughts, haunting her dreams. But then she smelled something else, followed by the unmistakable feel of the man hardening against her backside, and a new fear gripped her.

“Fookin’ hell, you smell good. Knew you would.” The man rasped, his tongue coming out to snake like oil against the shell of her ear. Rey whimpered.

Oh god, no. Not this. Anything but this—

“Taste as good as you smell, too. You taste like this all over, lass?”

She writhed uselessly against his hold, gasping when he shoved his hips forward and pinned her helplessly to the wall. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice wasn’t one she recognized.

“Saw the way you watched me out there. Couldn’t keep your eyes off me—”

Rey’s mind was working overtime, trying to discern the man’s words. It came to her then, the image of a man seated in one of the booths. The way he’d leered at her as she passed, the way his eyes followed her, looking at her in a way that was more than appreciative. In a way that was possessive, _predatory—_

“I’ve heard stories of your kind before, omega. They call you a siren singer. Well, I’ve heard the call, and I’ve come to give you what you’re beggin’ for you, you filthy little—”

The sound of cloth tearing made her cry out. She could feel air hitting her legs, and to her horror she realized the man had ripped the seam of her dress, exposing her right side from ankle to hip. She shut her eyes, tears welling against her lashes, and sent up a prayer that it would be over soon. Please, dear God, let it be over soon…

Suddenly, the man was torn away from her with a sharp cry. Rey collapsed against the wall, turning in time to see Ben lift the man by the throat and throw him against the wall beside the office’s door. The man’s head hit the wood with a resounding crack.

“The office, now.”

Rey’s didn’t understand at first, her thoughts a haze of fear. But then Ben turned to her, and the look in his eyes chilled her blood.

“Rey. Get in the office, _now._ ”

The word hit her like a bolt of lightning, zinging up her spine with such force she physically flinched. This wasn’t a request. It was a _command_ , and one she could feel every fiber in her body possessed to obey without hesitation. She stumbled past them and into the office. Ben slammed the door behind her.

She heard the sounds of struggle, the bang of the cellar door slamming shut. Even with two walls between them, the cries that followed were unholy, a testament to the pain Ben was no doubt wringing from the other man. A sharp cry cut off suddenly, and then the only sounds were her rattling breaths.

Rey’s knees gave out, and she caught herself on her hands as she crumpled to the floor beside the desk no one ever used.

She huddled against one of the desk’s legs, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping herself in shaky arms. Her dress was in tatters, her face was puffy and tear-streaked, and her wrists felt bruised where the man had gripped them.

He came in then, and she sucked in a breath at the sight. His hair fell over his eyes—his hat missing—and when he shrugged out of his coat her eyes widened to find his shirt and vest covered in blood. It was on his hands, his cuffs, a streak of what looked like finger marks smearing down his throat. He hung his coat on the lone hook beside the door, then finally looked at her.

He took a step forward, and that’s when it hit her.

The smell.

The taste.

She knew it, even though she didn’t. She would know it anywhere, had known it her whole life, had known it for many, many lifetimes.

He stopped short as if he’d hit a wall, his nostrils flaring and his head kicking back slightly. She moaned, and he cursed.

Then he swiveled on his heal and tore from the office.

She sagged, unaware that she’d arched towards him, her chest curved outward in offering. In his absence, a howl erupted from some dark, ancient part of her, and she felt the tears welling anew. Her body began to shake, the tremors starting in her toes and working their way up until her teeth were chatting. She hiccupped, doing her best to keep in the sobs that battered her from the inside. _Come back!_ The mewling voice deep inside wailed.

“Help me,” She whispered pitifully into the silence of the office.

Just as the first whine fell from her lips, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. He filled the doorway a moment later, a glass of water in one hand and her bottle of pills in the other. Three great strides took him across the room, and he extended both to her.

“Take it.”

Her hands shook violently as she reached up and grabbed the pill bottle. Blood streaked the glass, but she managed to avoid touching it as she untwisted the cap and poured one small pill into her hand. He grabbed the bottle from her and shoved the glass of water into her palm.

“Drink.”

She tossed the pill back and brought the glass to her lips, swallowing deeply. It seemed to satisfy him, taking some of the edge off of his thunderous mood. He stepped back and gave a nod.

“Good. Stay here.”

He didn’t wait for her reply before heading to the washroom off the side of the office. She heard the faucet turn on and the sounds of water splashing. A few moments later, he came back out, the blood gone from his hands and neck. He’d taken off his vest, but a few red stains still stuck to the sleeves of his shirt, which he’d rolled up.

He leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. Watching her.

The pill had minimal effect. Her blood was pumping hard, the adrenaline, fear, and his smell all combining to set her heart racing. She couldn’t tell if it was want or terror that had her breathing so shallow. Couldn’t discern between the horror she felt at seeing the evidence of his violence, and the bone-deep relief of knowing he had saved her.

Protected her.

_Alpha saved you._

He seemed to read her thoughts, giving her a single shake of the head. _No_ , his eyes said, _you stop that. You stop that right now._

And yet his scent, his taste, told her everything she needed to know.

_Safe, little omega. You are safe._

The sobs were back, bubbling in her throat. A single soft, high-pitch whine whistled past her lips, and Ben scowled darkly.

“Rey, no—”

A tear slipped free, and she reached for him.

He cursed bitterly, but was on her in an instant, crouching before her to wipe the tears from her cheek.

“Hush, you’re alright. You’re alright, love—”

His fingers pressed to her lips as if to silence her, and that only made her cry harder. He shushed her, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and she opened under his touch without thinking, sucking his thumb inside. His jaw snapped shut, the muscles bulging so hard she feared his teeth would crack. He moved to pull out; her hands flew to his wrists, gripping his tightly. She sucked him in deeper.

“Christ,” He exhaled heavily, and her eyes closed as his breath tickled her cheeks, bathing her in that taste she’d always known. Another tear tracked down her cheek.

“Come here,” He murmured, and she found herself pulled bodily into his lap. Ben settled back against the table, assuming the space where Rey had just been sitting. He adjusted her easily, pulling her back to his front, all the while letting her suck on his thumb in deep pulls.

She should have been embarrassed. Should have _mortified,_ but that ancient part of her that recognized his smell, his taste, told her this was where she belonged. She was made for no other purpose than to lie against him, taking him into her mouth, taking him into the deepest parts of her, taking him wherever she could, any way she could—

“Nothing leaves this room,” He whispered into her ear, his other hand sliding around her waist to grip her hip in the same spot the other man had. Where that man’s touch made her skin crawl, Ben’s hand on her skin burned her through the fabric of her gingham dress, making her squirm back against him. When her ass met the hard length of him, she shivered and sighed.

“Nothing, Rey. Do you understand?”

She wouldn’t release him thumb, just nodded her head before letting it collapse back against his shoulder. His lips brushed her temple. Could he taste her sweat? Did he want to?

His fingers ghosted over the bare skin of her thigh where her dress had been ripped, making her skin pebble.

“Hold still, or this will all be over soon,” His voice was little more than a rumble she could feel vibrating within his chest, “Keep your hands on my wrist. No touching.”

She said nothing but gave his wrist a tight squeeze of assent.

His hand dragged across her thigh, fingers slipping to the crease where leg and hip met. She felt herself melting.

He didn’t speak, but that taste flared on the back of her tongue and the smell of his pleasure filled the room until she was nearly choking on it. When his fingers slid between the folds of her, they both groaned.

Rey was dying. She closed her eyes as heat enveloped every inch of her, doing her best to bite back the sobs—of pleasure now, not pain—that demanded release. But he had told her to keep quiet, and whether he’d meant for it to be a command mattered not. She would not disobey him. She would be good, so, so—

“Good,” He crooned in her ear, a single long finger pushing deep inside of her, “It’s good, little one.”

The whispered words made her gush, literally. He slipped easily in and out of her, the soft sound of it mixing with his heavy breaths, her little sighs. He seemed to be doing his best to stay quiet, as well, each almost-moan cut short as if he were being choked, or punched. It certainly felt that way to her—pleasure so acute it was almost painful, something slamming into her repeatedly in that soft, tender space just below her belly. She felt empty and full all at once, her nails pressing into his flesh just to the point of piercing skin. The thought made her wild. She wanted to mark him, wanted him to mark her. The feel of his teeth grazing the edge of her jaw made her back arch, made her legs shake and fall open wide.

“That’s it,” He breathed, the fingers of the hand whose thumb she sucked greedily wrapping around her jaw, pressing into her neck. His nose skimmed where her pulse thundered beneath her skin just as his fingers plunged deep. She shook, all but swallowing his thumb, as his tongue snaked out and licked over the tender spot. He bit down—

Rey exploded, unable to keep in the cry that keened up from deep within her chest. Tremors wracked her whole frame, and she felt desperate to push deeper into his touch, to get away. Her leg cramped where it kicked out in front of her as every muscle in her body clamped down on his finger.

He pressed and rubbed, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her until she lay boneless in his grasp. Her body came back to her in stages, and it was an effort to open her eyes. He pulled his finger free from her, rubbing its stickiness across her thigh, but let her keep his thumb.

Without a word, Ben lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the office, down the hall, and up the stairs to her room. Kicking the door open softly, he settled her down on the mattress, sitting at the edge beside her. She still held his hand to her lips, exhaustion warring with a dull burst of anxiety. She knew he meant to leave now.

As if sensing her unease, Ben lifted his free hand—it smelled of her, she thought—and brushed her hair from her sticky forehead. His fingers played with the locks, twisting and tugging softly in a way that made Rey’s eyelids droop. She suckled drowsily on this thumb, her lips going lax.

“Sleep, little one.”

She wanted to say no, to beg him to stay, hold her, to play with her hair while she nursed his thumb all night long. But the events of the night—the performance, the attack, the way he played her body into submission as if it was a fucking mandate from God—were all too much to resist. Her eyes closed within moments, and the last thing she recalled was the feel of his thumb slipping free from her mouth and the brush of his lips across her temple.

Then, there was only blackness.


	5. Paint My Face, in which a Handkerchief is an act of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. THANK YOU. Thank you for the kudos, the comments, the hits—just thanks for everything! It's been so much fun to write this fic, and I love when you share your thoughts and excitement :)
> 
> Speaking of your thoughts...
> 
> This fic is reaching a point where it could take one of two directions: it could either be around 10 chapters long, or around 20. I'm personally most excited about the longer plot line, but I want to know what y'all think. Are you down for a saga, or are we keeping this fic short and sweet? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Lastly, I do have a tumblr for those who are looking to get a feel for the aesthetic of this fic. You can find it here:  
> https://mzladybird.tumblr.com/
> 
> Chapter Song: Paint My Face, by The Devil Makes Three

**5**

**Paint My Face, in which a Handkerchief is an act of War**

A week passed before Ben spoke to her again. Rey had expected as much from him, though it made his absence no less painful. She’d woken up the morning after the pub session with a dull headache and a feeling of delicious soreness radiating from between her legs. She’d taken two pills to quell the heat still simmering just under her skin, but the relief it offered was short-lived. That night, she’d tossed and turned in her bed, sweating through the sheets, as the ghost of his fingers played havoc on her memory and left her arching into her own hand. Three times she’d gotten herself off, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

She never did learn what happened to the man who’d attacked her. When she’d dared to go into the cellar the following afternoon, she’d found it freshly cleaned, the floor porous and dry in the way that cement got after it had been scrubbed down with soap. She’d thought to ask Ben about it, but his words in the office came back to her.

_Nothing leaves this room, Rey. Do you understand?_

He hovered on the periphery in the days that followed. She stuck to the pub, mostly, and the only time she saw him was in the evening when he came in with Armie and Finn. They’d order at the bar, Finn making pleasant conversation while Armie and Ben shared tense whispers off to the side, before the three of them slipped into the VIP parlor and closed the door. She knew he could feel her eyes on him when he came and went, if for no other reason than the fact that he _deliberately_ avoided meeting them.

She also knew he wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done. She knew he’d liked it, had _felt_ just how much, which made it all the more confusing that he ignored her. To say she was aggravated and hurt was an understatement. To say she wasn’t _crawling out of her skin_ with the need to feel his hands on her again…

When he came in the following Saturday morning, she didn’t even lift her head. She continued to dry wet mugs with a ratty hand towel, stacking them on the shelf, waiting to hear the door to the parlor close. It didn’t.

“About finished with that?”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. She looked up, surprised, to catch his eye in the mirrored wall behind the liquor shelves.

“Ah, no, actually,” Her voice pitched high, and she cleared her throat, “I just started…”

“How much longer will it take?”

She looked down at the mug in her hands, then turned to the stack sitting on the bar top.

“Ten minutes, maybe less?”

“Very well,” He sighed, pulling his hat off and turning to take a seat at the nearest table.

Silence settled between them as she continued drying the mugs. He pulled a cigarette from his case and lit it, leaning back in the chair and tilting his chin up to blow lazy smoke rings at the ceiling. Her eyes followed the little O’s as they puffed upward, spreading wide until they dissipated into the air.

“Do you need something…?”

“Something’s come up down by the canal.”

Rey frowned. “I’m not sure what help I can be with the shipment side of your business—”

“Not about shipments, least not the way you’re thinking.”

“Then what is it about?”

He took a heavy drag, eyeing her down the length of his nose. She watched, mesmerized, as he exhaled through his mouth at the same time he inhaled through his nose, so that the smoke slithered over his lips and back into his lungs. Christ, she thought. How could he make such a simple act as smoking into something that felt sinful just to _watch_?

“I need you to put that Second Sight of yours to use.”

*****

The shipping yard he brought her to was empty, all the boats either docked or long set off with their cargos. Ben led her down an alley between two warehouses, at the end of which were a crowd of stables beneath a roof of sheet metal. Two men came out to greet them as they approached.

The first one was short and thin, but he had a sturdy look about him that spoke to years of hard work and harder living. His salt-and-pepper hair was long and messy beneath his cap, the whiskers on his face giving him an extra grizzly look. He wore plain breeches and a coat with patches on the elbows, a contrast to the fine suits that Ben and the other Knights of Ren were known for.

Behind him, a mountain of a man shuffled forward, even more hairy and unkempt than his companion. But there was a bashfulness in him, and when Rey caught his eye he quickly looked down and wrung his hands nervously.

“Rey, this is my uncle Luke, and this is his stable man, Chewie.”

Rey stuck out her hand to shake. The man named Luke eyed Rey with unfiltered suspicion, and she eventually let her hand fall when he made no move to take it.

“So, this is Obadiah’s girl, eh?”

Luke sucked on his teeth, giving Rey a thorough once-over. She turned to Ben, a brow arched in question. He said nothing, just scratched at the side of his nose to hide his smirk.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Solo.”

“Not a Solo, girl. A Skywalker. Ben’s mum was me sister, bless her heart. Always told her his daddy was trouble, but she didn’t listen. And now I’m stuck dealing with bloody gangsters all fookin’ day—”

“Luke—” Ben started.

“No, Ben, no. You listen to me. I have _had it_ with this shit. You and your fookin’ Knights, bunch of boys running ‘round with their cocks out pissin’ up and down England, and now what? Dead bodies comin’ up the canal. Shootouts in the streets. Fookin’ grenades hidden in the stables! If I have to take another knife to the side for you, it’ll be my last!”

Chewie was muttering now. Ren noted his cockney accent—how’d a man from Bow Bells end up in Birmingham? She could barely discern his words, but the tone was clear. The louder Luke got, the more anxious Chewie grew.

“You have the man?”

Luke’s eyes blew wide, and Rey worried he’d tackle his nephew right there in the muddy streets of the yard. But after a moment of huffing and puffing, he visibly deflated.

“ _Of course I do_ , you bastard. Christ…c’mon on, then.”

Luke motioned them into the stables, Chewie close on his heels. The smell of horse shit and hay hit Rey square in the face, followed by the sound of hooves stomping and horses snorting.

They had three horses in the stables, two fillies—one chestnut, one white—and what looked to be an Arabian Thoroughbred. As a Traveller, Rey’d grown up around horses, but these were racing breeds. She marveled at the Arabian’s silver coat as they passed, locking eyes for the briefest moment with the glorious creature. When she looked away, she found Ben staring at her, some unnamed emotion swirling behind his eyes.

Luke led them further back into the stables, past the horses towards a large bale of hay and stacks of burlap sacks—oats, no doubt. They came around the side of the hay bale, and Rey’s blood ran cold.

A man sat against the wall. Well, more like he had collapsed, and the wall was the only thing standing between his back and the ground. His hands were bound, the ropes that secured him stained red with blood. It wasn’t from his wrists, though. No, the blood was dripping from his face, which had been beaten so thoroughly his features were almost unrecognizable beneath the swelling and bruising. He sat very still, so still Rey turned to Ben with the question plain in her eyes.

“He’s alive,” He nodded, “For now.”

“What happened?”

“Found him trying to sneak into the stables with these,” Luke grunted, grabbing a bag from atop the stacks of oats, “Grenades, enough to blow the whole yard.”

Rey turned back to the man. She could see now that he was unconscious but breathing, shallow wheezes rasping from his sunken chest. He wore plain clothes, black and worn, but something peaked out of his front coat pocket. A handkerchief of some sort…

Ben nodded at the man, hands in his pockets.

“Look at him.”

“I am looking at him…”

Ben tucked his chin and pinned Rey with a loaded stare. It took her a moment to gather his meaning.

“Ah,” She hummed, “Right.”

Her eyes swept the man again. It was almost like she was looking past him, letting the image of his mottled face and hunched shoulders fade at the edges, refocusing the lens of her mind. His color began to change, the blood and dirt fading way until something muted came through, a dull grey with a purple hue…

“It’s not him,” She announced, turning back to Ben, “It’s not the man I saw in the office.”

Chewie and Luke shared a look, the latter scrunching his nose as if something smelled foul.

“What’s she going on about?”

“You’re sure?” Ben pressed, ignoring his uncle.

“Positive. It’s not our man. I don’t know whose man this is.”

“Well, I might,” Luke growled, stepping forward to yank the handkerchief from the assailant’s pocket. He held it up, shaking it agitatedly in front of Rey’s face.

“Mind explaining this to me, girl?”

Rey frowned, taking the scrap of fabric. It was gold silk, its edges embroidered with burgundy. She spread it between her fingers, the pad of her thumb running over an insignia etched into the corner. Two looping M’s, woven together in red thread—

Rey frowned, looking up at Luke.

“How’d you get this?”

“Was on him when we found him. It’s her mark, isn’t? The Madam of Manchester.”

When Rey didn’t respond, Luke growled and yanked the handkerchief from her grasp.

“Fookin’ hell, Ben. Phasma probably sent the girl here to play spy. Wouldn’t be surprised if she tipped this bastard off. He knew me fookin’ schedule, came when Chewie and I were down at the Cut—”

“Mr. Skywalker, I swear, I’ve never seen this man in my life—”

“Lot of trust I place in the promises of a Traveller. Bunch of hustlers, the lot o’ you. Bunch of thugs and scavengers—”

“Luke,” Ben’s voice was low, ominous. Luke scowled at his nephew, but relented.

“Mr. Skywalker,” Rey took a tentative step forward, “I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. Yes, that is the mark of Manchester, but my aunt has about as much cause to betray the Knights of Ren as I do, which is to say none.”

“And why should I believe you, eh? Wily cailín come down from Dublin town with a snake in her eye and bad luck on her heels,” He pointed a gnarled finger at her, his teeth bared, “I’ve heard of you.”

A chill ran up Rey’s spine. There were a number of ways to interpret his words, and none were good.

“Then you must know why I’ve come to Birmingham, and that this was my last hope. Why would I strike out at the only arms that would open for me?”

Behind her, Rey felt Ben shift on his feet. She chanced a glance back, but his mask was firmly in place as always. If their conversation surprised him, she made no show of it. She had to wonder though…

How much did he know? How much did Luke?

“I was with my aunt, before coming here. I spent the last year in Manchester, and I only left because it was no longer safe for me there. Phasma sent me down the canal, to collect on a promise Ben made my grandfather. As I am now in the service of the Knights of Ren, an attack on Birmingham equals an attack on her kin. Think all you want of my aunt, but she would not betray her own, and certainly not when there are so few of us left.”

Luke studied her a long, hard moment. Rey watched her words working their way through him, slowly eating at his resolve. She could see the moment he acquiesced. But she could not have anticipated what he said next.

“I am sorry, about your grandfather. He might have been a Traveller and Irish as the day is long, and I’m certainly no friend of the Jinns and the Lees, but Obadiah was an honorable man.”

Rey would not cry. It was something she’d promised herself long ago. She would not sully the memory of her grandfather’s life—his sacrifice—with fickle tears. She gritted her teeth against the pain and gave a tight nod.

“Thank you, Mr. Skywalker.”

Luke gave a heavy sigh, and she saw the weariness beneath his anger and scorn. This was a man who’d lived through war, both at home and abroad. She knew enough about the Solos—had heard the stories of Han Solo, the infamous Smuggler of Small Heath—but the Skywalkers were a mystery to her. If Rey had to guess, she imagined Luke had spent most of his life pining for simpler days, when he was just a man running a shipping yard and tending to horses. But his sister fell in love with a gangster, and now his nephew headed one of the biggest criminal organizations in England. 

“So,” Luke grunted, settling himself down on a hay bale, “If this isn’t Phasma’s man, what in the bloody hell is her handkerchief doing in his pocket?”

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Ben hummed, stepping around Rey to squat before the unconscious man. He pressed one hard finger to the man’s swollen cheek, eliciting a pitiful groan from the poor wretch.

He stood suddenly, turning back to Rey.

“Where have we seen this before?”

Rey frowned, not following, until Ben motioned to his neck. Pantomiming the act of tying off a—

“The Flyboy’s scarf,” Her eyes widened, “It was planted…”

“Like I told Poe. Someone’s trying to turn allies against each other. Not just Camden Town and Birmingham. They’ve got their sights on Manchester, probably more. They’re coming after all of us—”

“Wait, what?” Luke held up a hand, “Who’s coming for us?”

“The break-in. One of the assailants wore the mark of a Flyboy, only it was a fake. I thought it was an isolated incident, someone trying to undermine our business with Dameron, but now…”

Ben stuck his hand out for the handkerchief. Luke gave it over. He studied the scrap of fabric a moment, his heavy brows knit tight over his sharp eyes.

“Chewie,” Ben said suddenly, turning to the giant man huddled off to the side and nodding at the beaten bomber, “I trust you can take care of this for me?”

Whatever Chewie said in his cockney accent must have communicated an affirmative, because Ben gave a nod and tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket.

“Come on, Rey.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, instead taking her by the elbow and leading her from the stables. Luke was on their heels.

“Oy, now wait a minute! What am I supposed to do with all these grenades?!”

“I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to stash them,” Ben called back, “Or hell, maybe you _should_ blow the yard. At least then you’ll finally be rid of me!”

The alleyways were empty as they walked back to the offices, Rey doing her best to keep up with Ben relentless pace. He never turned back to see if she was following, lost in whatever tumultuous thoughts were running through his head. She watched the way his coat billowed out behind him like a cape as his long legs ate up the muddy streets beneath them. He looked almost menacing against the grey light of a quiet Sunday morning. A Lord of Havoc prowling his city in the shadows of the coming fall.

“Ben.”

“Rey.”

“Are we really not going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“You know what.”

“No, not sure that I do.”

“About that night. About what happened in the hallway…in the office—”

“As I recall, the only thing that happened was us agreeing to _not_ discuss anything about that night. So, consider this me, _not_ discussing it.”

“I want to do it again.”

He stopped then, spinning on her so fast she almost ran into him. His face was stone, lips pursed casually around his cigarette as if the conversation bored him. But his eyes were fire, burning her up as they swept her face. He pulled the cig from his mouth and threw it on the ground, stomping it out.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” She pressed closer, her heart flipping at the way his nostrils flared and his eyes fell briefly to her lips.

“Rey…”

“I touched myself imagining it was your hand inside me. I came over and over—”

She found herself yanked forward, spun to the right and dragged through the cracked door of the nearest warehouse. It was empty inside, an old storage unit with rusty metal walls capped by a corrugated roof riddled with cracks. Beams of light pierced through the pockmarked ceiling, casting the dusty cement floor in a cool grey glow.

She’d yet to catch her breath when her back met the metal wall, the sound of it reverberating through the warehouse. His hand came up around her neck, pressing just enough to make it harder to breathe. But she loved it, wanted more.

He crowded against her, his breath tight and hot as it hit her face. He curved down over her so that their noses were nearly touching. At first, she thought he might kiss her. But all he did was stand there, glaring, his hand warm and hard at her throat.

“Do you have a death wish?”

She swallowed against his hold. “What?”

“I do my research, too, cailín. I know what drove you from Dublin to Manchester, and why even the great Gwen Phasma wasn’t enough to keep the dogs at bay. I know who hunts you.”

She shivered, fear mixing with the dizzying scent rolling off of him. It made him mad, she realized, knowing that someone else sought her out. Made him _furious._

“And what will you do when they come looking for me? The dogs.”

His eyes darkened then, and this time when his gaze fell to her lips, he did not drag it away.

“I dare anyone to step foot in my city who would take what’s mine.”

“And am I?” She sighed, letting her hands come up to his wrist, “Yours?”

“You work for me, don’t you?” His jaw was ticking again.

“You know that’s not what I mean—”

Her words cut off with a gasp as he pressed a thick thigh between her legs, trapping her fully against the wall. Her hands flew to his shoulders, but he was quick to gather her wrists in his grasp and pin them above her head. Her coat fell open, cool air hitting her collarbone, chilling the soft, hot skin of her upper chest above the hem of her blouse. She arched against him, a breathless moan slipping from her mouth.

“You’re in over your head, little one. This is a game you won’t win.”

“Certainly feels like I’m winning,” She whispered, rolling her hips over his thigh. Christ, he felt good, all thick and hard between her legs. She could just imagine what other parts of him would feel like. She whined at the thought.

“Quiet,” He bit out, the hand around her throat sliding up to cover her mouth. She licked across his palm, delighting in the way he cursed. His grip on her wrists tightened and he shoved his thigh forward, pushing her an inch up the wall.

“You are dangerous,” He murmured, rolling his hips slightly to match the rhythm of hers as she moved up and down his leg, “And I’ll not have you making a mess of things over something as silly as a needy cunt.”

She wanted to protest, but he was right. She was needy, so fucking needy for it that she could already feel herself fast approaching the precipice, the fabric of her skirt and his dress pants dampening beneath her slick movements. He seemed to sense it; he gave a predatory tilt of the head, catching her scent on the air between them. It made the tendons of his neck stand out, made him bare his teeth and hiss. She strained against his hold, doing her best to press her tits to his chest and rub.

“Fookin’ hell,” He growled, the hand around her mouth slipping down her neck to drag between her breasts. He was so large against her, his hand spanning the width of her chest so that his thumb could brush against the tight peak of her nipple, making her jerk in his hold. She mewled, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. He looked up then, a flash of wonder in his eyes.

“That’s right,” He cooed, his thumb making another swipe over the bud, “You stay nice and quiet for me. Not a sound, or I’ll stop. Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head frantically, sweat beading at her temple and between her quivering tits. He pressed his thigh more insistently against her, and she felt the first tremors tickling at the edges of her nerves.

“That’s good, little one. That’s very,” A thump of her nipple, “Very,” A press of his thigh, “Good.”

She was shaking everywhere now, the taste of her orgasm on the tip of her tongue. Another thrust, and it would be over.

A dog barked somewhere outside, followed by the sounds of men yelling and laughing as they came down the alley. Rey’s eyes widened, and the smirk that Ben gave her was positively evil.

“Shy, are we? Then you best not make a single sound. Do you understand, Rey? Scream now and they will hear you.”

He shoved forward then, tilting his thigh in such a way that it hit her right where she needed it most. The pleasure that crashed into her was so acute, the need to cry out so intense, she thought she might bite through her lip just to keep it in. Her eyes slammed shut, tears slipping from the corners to track down her cheeks as she came apart under his hands and on his leg.

It took several moments for Rey to come back down to earth, the aftershocks of her pleasure making her twitch as Ben slowly eased off. Her teeth slid from her lip; she ran her tongue across the bruised skin, smiling lazily at the way Ben’s eyes tracked the movement with singular focus. But then he was releasing her, his hands lifting from her wrists, from her chest. She frowned as he stepped back.

“What…?”

Ben drew a hand down his face, and Rey didn’t miss the shadow of a stain high up on his pant leg. But then he was adjusting his coat, covering the evidence of her arousal. Though nothing could contain the intimidating bulge at the front of his pants.

“Let me…” She reached for him, but he caught her wrist and squeezed to the point of pain.

She searched his gaze. His eyes were twin coals, burning hot beneath black pupils blown wide. He was breathing heavily, doing his best to reign in the emotions swirling behind that dark stare. When she made no further advance, Ben slowly relaxed his hold on her, and Rey let her wrist slip from his grip to land limply at her side. A hollowness settled in the pit of her stomach.

_Alpha doesn’t want your touch. He doesn’t want you._

“Pack a bag, enough for a few days. Then meet me at the offices.”

Rey swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Where are we going?”

“Manchester. I need to speak with Phasma.”

Emotions assaulted her then. Joy, excitement, anxiety. She’d left Manchester only weeks ago, in the cover of night, and not on favorable terms. But it had been home for the past year, and she’d missed her aunt terribly since she’d left.

Ben turned away from her, spearing his fingers through his hair, and Rey felt a stab of something like shame pierce her chest. Not for what they’d done—what she couldn’t _wait_ to do again—but because this thing between them so clearly bothered Ben. And there was another part, something much older and more primal, still weighing on her heart.

_You’ve displeased Alpha._

_He doesn’t like touching you._

_Only does it because you make him._

_He doesn’t want you, omega._

Ben turned back to her then, his face a mask of tension. Whatever he saw on hers had him cursing and rubbing at his eyes.

“Ah, hell,” He inhaled deeply, letting the lungful out in one long, frustrated breath. Rey wiped at the corner of her mouth—Christ, had she been _drooling?_ —and righted her skirts, buttoning her jacket to hide the glaring spot of wetness at her front.

“Right, I’ll see you soon,” She mumbled low, not trusting her voice to hold steady. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Rey, just—” He stepped forward, only to skid to a halt when she turned to him. He huffed, planting his hands on his hips. His chin tucked to his chest and he let loose another heavy sigh.

“This…thing. It can’t happen—”

“Yes, well, you’ve made that _perfectly_ clear,” She bit out a touch too harshly, already turning back to the door.

“You don’t understand.”

Now it was her turn to tip her head back and sigh.

“Care to enlighten me, then?”

She felt him come up behind her. Despite her frustration, and the pain of his rejection, she couldn’t hold back the shiver that ran up her spine when his hand brushed the curls from her neck. He pressed his nose softly to her skin, and they both inhaled.

“This,” He murmured into her neck, reaching around her to hold up Phasma’s handkerchief in front of them, “Is a declaration of war.”

“In war,” He continued, “There are casualties. Sometimes they are innocents, unfortunate bystanders caught in the crossfire. But neither of us are innocent. And if someone is coming for the Knights of Ren, then they’re coming for me and everyone close to me. Do you understand what I’m saying, Rey?”

She reached up, rubbing the end of the fabric between her fingertips. Ben let it drop into her hands, his own palms sliding around her hips to anchor her to him. She could feel him, still so brutally hard behind her, but she resisted the urge to press back against him.

Because she did understand. And as much as it pained her to admit it, he was right.

This heat. This lust. This un- _fucking_ -relenting need? It was all one massive liability in their world. She was a fugitive, and he was a gangster. She was a Traveller, and he was a Knight of Ren. The surest way to bring a Knight to his knees was to hit him in that tender spot between the plates of his armor, a targeted blow to his weakest point. And the only thing that could weaken an Alpha like Ben Solo was an omega, especially one with a past like Rey’s. 

_Alpha doesn’t need you. You’re nothing but bad luck. The girl with a snake in her eye, they said._

_You’ll ruin him._

_You’ll ruin him!_

She stepped out of his grasp, turning only to hand him back the handkerchief. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid that if she did her resolve would break. His fingers brushed hers, betraying the longing he wouldn’t let himself voice. Mirroring the need she felt for him, the need she had to quash.

_It’s best this way,_ she thought. _It has to be._

“I’ll see you at the offices.”

She didn’t stick around for his reply.


	6. Salty Dog, in which the Traveller and the Knight pay a visit to the Madam of Manchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fic family! As always, endless gratitude for the love you’ve shown this story. Huge shoutout to the day 1s who've been down for this fic from the start. I see you beautiful humans! Your feedback, encouragement, and excitement are my main motivators :) 
> 
> On the topic of feedback:
> 
> 1\. The initial votes are in and it looks like we will be going for the longer plot line! I’m very excited about this, I only hope I can keep you engaged and on your toes!
> 
> 2\. A reviewer called my attention to the use of the word ‘gypsy’ in this fic and how it can be traumatic and hurtful to Romani readers given its legacy of negative connotations. I am very grateful for their feedback and accountability, and I would like to take this time to apologize to anyone I've hurt by using this word. To ensure that I do not cause further harm, I have removed it entirely from this fic. It is very important to me that readers feel safe and validated in our shared space, and I would never want to trigger anyone with word choice, regardless of context. Rey’s character is a Traveller, which is the name used to describe members of an ethnic minority of nomads indigenous to Ireland. Based on my research, ‘Traveller’ is a neutral term with no history of pejorative use, so it will be the only word used from here on out. If you are more knowledgable on this topic and have additional insights, or if you find anything else problematic with the text in its present form, please let me know! Let’s normalize apologizing for harm we’ve caused without trying to explain ourselves or rationalize our actions. Let’s normalize changing our minds and adjusting our behavior based on new information. Let’s normalize accountability as an act of love and support!
> 
> Happy reading, y’all!
> 
> Chapter song: Salty Dog, by Flogging Molly (you'll know it when you see it!)

**6**

**Salty Dog, in which the Traveller and the Knight pay a visit to the Madam of Manchester**

“Sunbeam, my sweet girl! You are a sight for sore fookin’ eyes!”

Gwen Phasma’s voiced boomed as she stood from her booth and opened her arms wide. “Come here, love. Give us a kiss.”

Rey threw herself headlong into her aunt’s arms, trying her best to keep the tears from falling. She buried her face in the Phasma’s ample chest, inhaling her scent of cigar smoke and rosewater. God, she’d missed it.

Behind them, two men were patting Ben down. One pulled a pistol free from its holster, setting it down atop the bar. The other procured a switch blade from his sock, putting it next to the gun. Satisfied the Black Knight was fully divested of his weapons, they threw the gun and knife into a small sack to store on the top shelf where they kept the good whisky.

The Millennium Falcon was one of Phasma’s higher-end joints, a lounge that catered to Manchester’s wealthy elites and local politicians. Its walls were tall, with crown moldings brushed in gold and dressed in elegant tapestries. The ceiling was vaulted and painted like the Sistine Chapel, a massive chandelier hanging from the center.

At half-passed three, the lounge was still empty save a handful of staff prepping for the evening. The guards who’d greeted them at the doors were new, twin brothers Rey had only met once, shortly before she’d left town. They were part of a small, select group of men Phasma hired to work the doors at her bars, preferring to leave the actual management of her establishments to the Annies.

“Ain’t nothing a man does that a woman can’t do better,” was the motto by which Gwen Phasma lived her life.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, my beautiful Rey o’ sunshine,” Phasma crooned in her ear, smoothing Rey’s hair and giving her a kiss atop the head.

“So much,” Rey mumbled into the fabric of her aunt’s dress shirt. Phasma always wore a suit, tailored-made and expensive as hell. Even now, at this early hour, she was fully dressed in slacks, a vest, and a freshly pressed shirt that still had the feel of starch.

Phasma pulled back, her hands on Rey’s shoulders. She gave her niece a thorough once-over, taking her in.

“Still too thin. Are you taking care of my niece, Mr. Solo?”

Ben came up beside them then, his elbow lightly brushing Rey’s arm. Rey wondered if Phasma could feel the way it made her tense.

It had been a long drive up from Birmingham. Ben brought no one with them, and gave Armie, Finn, and Maz explicit orders not to tell anyone where they’d gone.

“The fewer of us who know, the better,” He’d reasoned as he’d loaded their overnight bags into the Bentley. “Put an extra patrol out on the streets while we’re gone. I won’t have any more men flying under the radar in my town.”

They’d spent the bulk of the journey driving in silence, which came as no surprise all things considered. What _was_ surprising was the fact that the few times they did speak, it was Ben who’d pushed for conversation.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Not too cold?”

“No.”

“Shall I roll up the window?”

“It’s fine.”

He’d gripped the steering wheel in a strangled hold the entire drive, his fingers occasionally flexing when a gust of wind had ruffled Rey’s hair or she’d shifted her legs. She’d rolled the windows down to ease the ache brought on by his scent, the taste of his breath in the tight confines of the cabin. It was blatantly torturous, sitting so close to him for hours. Didn’t matter that he’d brought her off that very morning. Hell, it almost made it worse—she could still feel it in her stomach, the aftertaste of pleasure mixed with the bitterness of that little voice that wouldn’t leave her alone.

_He’s not your Alpha._

_He doesn’t want you._

_You’re no good, omega. No good for him._

“I’ll let her be the judge of that,” Ben murmured, and Rey could feel his gaze on her face. She didn’t meet it, but gave her aunt her best smile.

“He’s been nothing but good to me, Phaz.”

It wasn’t a lie. For all her heartache and frustration, Ben had indeed been good to Rey. Very, _very_ good.

“Right, well, I still say you look a bit peaked, Sunbeam. Michael, get my niece a plate of shepherd’s pie, and a bottle of Irish for the table.”

The three of them settled into the booth while one of the guards went back into the kitchen. It was plush, the seats wrapped in burgundy velvet. Phasma sat on one side, Rey and Ben on the other. The Madam of Manchester pulled a long cigarette holder from a vase at the edge of the table. Ben was there to offer her a cigarette and a light.

“Thank you,” Phasma murmured around the tip of the holder, puffing slightly to get the cig going. Taking a drag, she leaned back in the booth, the fingers of her free hand tapping absently against the tabletop.

“You have it?”

Ben reached into his jacket and pulled out the handkerchief, tossing in onto the table between them. Phasma leaned forward and drew a finger across the silk, spreading it out so that her insignia was visible.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“As I said over the phone,” Ben folded his hands together atop the table, “They’re coming at us from all sides of this.”

“Do you have any suspects?”

“There are a few possibilities. My men are investigating a potential connection to some bad business coming out of Scotland—”

Phasma’s eyes hardened, landing on Rey, who was still as stone beside Ben. He’d not told her this.

“Billy Boys?”

“In this case, no, actually,” Ben’s eyes slid to Rey, “Though I am keeping an eye on them, too. I’m talking about the Yard, not the country.”

Phasma visibly relaxed at that. But her frown line was back.

“Not possible. I have a man on the inside, he keeps a check on any investigations into my businesses—”

“And when was the last time you saw this man?”

“It’s been a least a month since he passed through. I gave him a tip about some labor organizers from London. They came up north during the factory strikes over the summer...”

Ben and Phasma kept talking politics, but Rey lost hold of the conversation. Her ears rang with the blood pounding behind them, the dull tone of her pulse drowning out all other sounds. She could feel her palms begin to sweat, a cold trickle slithering through her veins.

_Bad business coming out of Scotland._

_I am keeping an eye on them, too._

Billy Boys, Billy Boys, the Billy Boys are coming for you—

A giddy shriek across the bar pulled Rey from her spiraling thoughts. She turned to see a flash of blonde hair racing down the staircase leading to the VIP lounges. The ghosts in her mind scattered as joy bloomed in her chest.

“Bloody fookin’ hell, is that a wee Traveller I spy?”

Kaydel Connix flew across the bar, her blond braids fluttering behind her. Rey was already halfway out of the booth, meeting her in the middle. They collided hard, making Rey huff and Kaydel laugh. Skinny arms wrapped themselves tightly around Rey’s waist, warm lips pressing hard to her cheek.

“Oh, bless my stars, it is _so good_ to see you again.”

“Kaydel,” Rey grinned into her friend’s hair, rocking the other woman softly in her arms, “Christ, I missed you.”

Kaydel pulled back, beaming. The summer Rey had gone to stay with Phasma for the first time was the same summer that Kaydel joined the Madam’s organization. She’d been a wisp of a thing then, living on the streets after the first wave of the Spanish Flu took her entire household. If Rey was skinny, Kaydel had been a walking corpse, wet and skittish when she’d shown up at Phasma’s doorstep asking for a job.

Looking at the woman in front of her, Rey saw nothing of that scared little girl. Kaydel had grown into a siren, as beautiful as she was deadly. Her golden blonde curls were artfully plaited with pink ribbon, her full curves wrapped in a red silk robe that left little to the imagination. Rey had always harbored a quiet jealousy of her friend. When Kaydel walked by, men tumbled from their booths in their haste to watch her go. She wasn’t an omega, which almost made it worse. Whatever allure Rey held, it was unintentional, a relic of evolution. Kaydel was just bloody gorgeous, a femme fatale with a mouth like a bow and hands that would strip you of your wallet, your gun, and your pants in one go.

“God, has it already been a month?” Kaydel’s hands cupped Rey’s cheeks, “It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Honestly, I didn’t figure I’d be back so soon,” Rey held her friend’s wrists, giving them a squeeze, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to say goodbye a second time—”

“Oh, posh, none of that now when I’ve only just gotten my hands on you!”

Kaydel’s gaze lifted over Rey’s shoulder, and a gleam lit in her eyes.

“Is that him?”

Rey had to tamp down the sudden flare of irrational possessiveness that stole through her. She turned back to the booth. Ben and Phasma were still deep in discussion, but Ben’s eyes lifted to hers as if summoned. And then he was looking at Kaydel, a single black brow arched. Rey felt her cheeks pinken, the jealousy impossible to quell.

“Oh, he is _dark_ , isn’t he?” Kaydel whispered in her ear, making Rey grit her teeth.

“He’s…something,” Rey hedged.

“That bad, is it?”

“What?” Rey’s confusion momentarily stamped out her resentment. She turned back to Kaydel, whose grin had taken on a mischievous edge. Kaydel gave Ben one last glance, then grabbed Rey’s hand.

“Come. We clearly have _lots_ to talk about.”

****

“I can’t wear this, Kaydel.”

“Bollocks! You look sinful, darling.”

Kaydel lay sprawled out on a velvet green chaise lounge, rolling her stocking up her long legs. Across the room, Rey stood in front of the vanity mirror, staring at her reflection and feeling utterly out of her depth.

The dress Kaydel had picked out for her was black silk, a slinky number with a deep neckline and a hem that hit just beneath her knees. Or rather, its long skirt of fringe hit her knees. The actual hem sat much higher up on her thighs, revealing far more leg than she was accustomed to showing. The bodice was intricately beaded, shiny silver, gold, and black gems catching the low light of Kaydel’s room and making Rey feel like she was wearing a chandelier. Even the capped sleeves dripped with adornment, so that her every movement was a play of light and texture, of shine and shadow.

Kaydel had done her hair in finger waves swept behind one shoulder and pinned with a black velvet barrette at her neck. Her makeup was similarly dark—smoky kohl smudged around her eyes in a way that made them look larger. Even her lips were painted dark red, a color not unlike blood. The entire ensemble had the effect of making her reflection almost unrecognizable, something Rey wasn’t entirely convinced she liked. But Kaydel had been insistent.

Hours had passed since they’d left Phasma and Ben to business, stealing up to Kaydel’s rooms above the Millennium Falcon. They’d spent the afternoon on Kaydel’s bed, arms wrapped around each other as they talked about everything and nothing. Kaydel caught Rey up on happenings in Manchester—how business was going, how the girls were doing, how much everyone missed her—and badgered her for every detail about her new life in Birmingham. Kaydel was particularly curious about Rey’s new boss. It had taken very little prodding before Rey broke down and confessed to…well, everything.

“Bloody hell,” Kaydel had collapsed back against the bed, fanning herself, “In a warehouse? Really? Why is that so attractive?”

She’d been embarrassed at first—she didn’t like talking about anything related to her omega designation—but Kaydel’s enthusiasm for her…exploits…was so infectious that Rey made the terrible mistake of getting wistful, betraying just how hopelessly infatuated she was with Ben. Which gave Kaydel ideas.

Hence, the dress.

“He’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you.”

“I dunno, Kay…this feels a bit much.”

“It’s the Falcon, Rey! Women come here in furs and diamonds. Men check their top hats and ivory-tipped canes at the door. I assure you, you’re underdressed for the occasion.”

“I wish we could go to Patty’s,” Rey sighed. It was one of Phasma’s seedier establishments, an Irish pub know for its jig bands and big brawls.

“After, perhaps, but Phasma has a meeting with a councilman at eight about securing a permit for a new bar on the East Side. She wants me to meet the man’s son, play liaison...”

“That why you’re wearing the red dress?”

Kaydel grinned, standing up to strike a pose. If Rey thought her dress was revealing…

By the time they headed back down to the lounge, the house was already full. Kaydel had been right about Rey’s attire—she was nowhere near the fanciest dressed. Women in long evening gowns and a jewelry-store’s worth of gems hung on the arms of tuxedoed men with waxed mustaches and an air of obnoxious superiority. Rey stayed close to Kaydel, who moved seamlessly through the crowd, stopping occasionally to chat and flirt with people as she passed. Rey tugged at the hem of her dress, suddenly feeling overexposed and horribly out of place.

Rey didn’t see him come up behind her, but she instantly recognized the feel of Ben’s hand as it settled at the small of her back. Turning, she noted that he had also changed, and the effect of seeing him in a suit of all black, his hair a mess of waves that contrasted with his immaculate attire, stole her breath. What had Kaydel called him?

_Dark._ Christ, it was true. Ben Solo was midnight incarnate. Rey had the most fleeting thought that she would not survive him.

But then she saw the way he was looking at her. The way he couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from taking in every inch of her, from the tips of her feet to the top of her head. His gaze was hot, his lust palpable. All her shyness and discomfort burned up under that stare, and in its absence a feeling of power she didn’t recognize made her stand taller. Made her back arch and her chest expand in a way that had a visible effect on Ben. He bit the inside of his cheek, and something inside of Rey uncurled itself…and purred.

“Mr. Solo!”

The spell broke momentarily, and they both turned to Kaydel, who was holding her hand out to Ben.

“A pleasure to meet you. Rey has told me such _wonderful_ things.”

Ben’s brows arched heavenward, and Rey gave Kaydel her most murderous gaze. It had no effect; Kaydel smiled like a cat who’d just swallowed the canary whole, feathers and all.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms…”

“Kaydel Connix, at your service. Or should I say at the service of our lady here, who I understand is serving you _quite_ well—”

“Kaydel!”

The woman laughed, her head tipping back to expose her long, smooth neck. Rey had the uncharacteristic urge to wrap her hands around that pretty neck and _wring it._

Ben just smirked, his eyes wandering back to Rey.

“You look lovely, Ms. Kenobi.”

The words were simple. Polite. And yet the tone—rich, deep, almost whispered as if he wanted no one but her to hear him—hit Rey right in that secret part of herself. The part that begged to be good for him, to please him.

_Alpha says you look lovely._

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.”

“There you all are!”

The trio turned as Phasma approached, her standard suit upgraded to an impeccable three-piece in a rich royal blue. She hugged both Rey and Kaydel before leaning in to whisper something in Ben’s ear.

“Excuse use, ladies,” He gave a slight bow, following Phasma through the crowd. Rey watched them make their way to a booth in the far corner of the room. She couldn’t see the faces of the men who rose to greet them, but if Kaydel was to be believed, one of them was a member of city council.

Standard company for the Madam of Manchester.

“Come one, lover girl,” Kaydel laced her arm with Rey’s, “Let’s get you something to drink.”

Ben and Phasma stayed with their guests for over an hour, and with Kaydel working the floor between brief bursts of conversation, Rey eventually found herself alone at the bar, nursing a whisky and observing the crowd.

Aristocrats fascinated her. Their lives were like plays—beautiful, deliberate, and painstakingly rehearsed. She watched a rakish, lord-looking type doing his best to seduce a lovely woman who had the flare of starlet. She certainly acted like one. Her feigned hesitation at his advances was glaringly bad acting, and Rey found it funny to realize she pitied the woman. She clearly wanted the man, and yet she had to go through a convoluted set of prescribed steps before she could finally yield to her own desire.

Rey never had to do that. She could let the Black Knight of Birmingham bring her off in an abandoned warehouse and no one would bat a lash, because no one was watching _her_. If she wanted to fuck, she fucked, and she thought nothing of what others might say, what they might think. No one would blink an eye at the ‘proclivities’ of a Traveller, because so-called respectable society already assumed the worst of her people. It was rotten and liberating all at once. To exist at the margins, where no one cared what you did—so long as you did it far away from them. There was a freedom to being socially undesirable. To being invisible.

Rey was two whiskies in when a finger tapped on her shoulder. She couldn’t hold back the grin that split her face as Ben slipped in beside her, rapping his knuckle on the bar top to order them both another whisky.

“You’ve been busy,” She murmured over the lip of her glass, turning to rest her elbows on the bar.

“Your aunt has some very useful connections. I may have to invest in Manchester.”

“She runs a tight ship, and everyone likes efficiency. Doesn’t matter what side of the law you fall on when you can deliver on your promises.”

“Spoken like a true gangster.” There was admiration in his tone.

“By proxy, perhaps. Bit hard to be a Kenobi without picking up a few things. Did you find out anything about the people behind the attacks?”

Ben sighed, swirling his whisky. “Phasma thinks it might be the Italians come back for vengeance, but these mind games aren’t their style. She insists it’s no one official…”

“But you have your doubts?”

“I always have my doubts. I’ve found doubt to be a strength. It makes you consider every possibility, and prepare accordingly.”

Rey weighed her next question carefully. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer.

“And the Billy Boys…”

“Are not your concern,” Ben said darkly, definitively, “I have men surveilling them. Plutt can’t touch you while you’re with me.”

Just his name brought a pall on her, and Rey found herself leaning towards Ben ever so slightly. He must have sensed her dread, because his hand came down on her forearm, his thumb brushing over her skin in a way that both comforted and ignited her.

“On my mother’s grave, Rey, I swear—”

“Rey! _Rey!_ ”

Kaydel came barreling through the crowd, a handsome young man on her arm. He was young, perhaps too young for Kaydel, but his fine clothes spoke to old money. He certainly looked like a councilman’s son—seems Kaydel had found her mark for the night.

“Sammy O’Sullivan and the boys are playing at Patty’s tonight! C’mon! Let’s show Simon here,” Kaydel nodded at her companion, “What a _real_ party looks like.”

Rey was already pushing back from the bar when Ben’s hand wrapped around her elbow.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Was that anxiety she heard beneath his gruffness?

Maybe it was the whisky that fueled her. Maybe it was the way his touch lit her up from the inside and brought out a dormant boldness. Whatever it was, Rey turned her elbow in Ben’s grasp to wrap her own hand around his forearm and tug him closer.

“ _We_ are getting out of here.”

*****

_I'll wait for you till I turn blue  
There's nothin' more a man can do  
Don't get your bollocks in a twist  
Settle down, don't take a fit_

_Ya drank with demons straight from Hell  
They almost nearly won as well  
Ya wiped the floor with victory…_

“Then puked until you fell asleep!”

The crowd roared in unison, tossing back their drinks and slamming their mugs atop the beer-streaked tables pushed to the far edges of the pub. In the middle, bodies swayed and writhed to the blistering tempo of Sammy O’Sullivan and the Salty Dogs.

Rey was spinning. She’d been spinning for hours. She was presently linked at the arm with a pretty redheaded woman, the two of them weaving figure eights around each other, knees and elbow knocking as they switched arms. Nearby, Kaydel was trying to teach Simon a simple slip jig, but he looked past the point of standing. All around, the air was thick with heat and sweat and the sour taste of stale beer.

Rey was in heaven.

As she and her companion made yet another spin, Rey’s eyes briefly connected with Ben’s. He stood at the bar across the room. She’d tried early on to get him to dance but to no avail. When she’d finally abandoned her efforts, he made his way for the bar, and he’d stayed there ever since.

“Rey! C’mere!”

Kaydel was on her a moment later, arms wrapping her in a loose embrace. She leaned into Rey, all but hanging on her, giggles bubbling from her lips.

“Simon is a _terrible_ dancer!” Kaydel yelled over the crowd, “Help me show him how it’s done!”

Rey had no time to reply; Kaydel was already dragging her towards one of the long mess hall tables pushed against the back of the pub. Men began to applaud as Kaydel grabbed a chair and did her best to climb atop. It teetered, and it took two sets of hands to help her safely onto the table. She turned around, grinning down at Rey.

“Dance with me, Traveller girl!”

Kaydel reached out her hand, and Rey took it.

The crowds who frequented Patty’s were decidedly less formal than those found at the Millennium Falcon, and the four of them—Rey, Ben, Kaydel, and Simon—stood out in their fine dress. But it had taken little time for the sweat to wrinkle their clothes and dampen their hair, making a proper mess of all of them. Rey could feel how her curls had come loose of her barrette, framing her face in a halo of frizz. The kohl around her eyes was undoubtedly smeared and sweat dribbled in little beads down her chest. She’d long lost her shoes, and the pads of her stocking-covered feet were wet with spilt beer.

Standing atop the table, Rey finally got a full look at Ben. He’d taken his jacket off at some point and rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. His hair looked equally mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it absently. He was holding a glass of whisky, a tumbler beside him on the bar. His expression was neutral as ever, but a slight flush had bloomed on his cheeks, and there was something light in his eyes. A glitter of humor, perhaps. When he met her gaze, he smirked and raised his glass in an unmistakable fashion.

_Cheers, Ms. Kenobi._

When the bridge hit, Kaydel saddled up to Rey’s side, her hand raised. Rey grabbed it, both women arching out a foot to assume ceili position. And then they were on their toes.

It was that first summer, when they both began working for Phasma, that Rey taught Kaydel to dance. Kaydel was born and bred in Manchester, so her familiarity with Irish folk dance was predictably limited. But she had natural grace and learned quickly, and eventually their pair dancing became a staple of late-night entertainment in Phasma’s more casual venues. Rey’d never been good at the seduction side of the business, but her feet were nimble, and whenever she’d danced with Kaydel for a crowd of liquor-loose men, they’d always turned a healthy profit.

Their steps were sloppier than usual, though that was to be expected. The table was long but narrow, and there were a few moments of ‘oh!’ and ‘ah!” when their feet slipped or they teetered too close to the edge. Below them, Simon stood looking up at Kaydel with stars in his eyes, and Rey almost felt bad for the poor boy.

She couldn’t bring herself to look back at Ben, knowing full well that whatever she saw in his stare was likely to send her tumbling off the table. So, she focused on Kaydel, on her wide smile, her laughing eyes, her neck tipping back as she let out a sudden howl of joy. When Sammy O’Sullivan’s voice rang out over the ruckus, Kaydel skidded to a halt and leapt suddenly from the table. But she was right there at the edge, slapping the top in time to the music. She sang along to the words, and Rey kept dancing.

_They threw a rope around yer neck  
To watch you dance the jig of death  
Then left ya for the starvin' crows  
Hoverin' like hungry whores  
One flew down plucked out your eye  
The other he had in his sights  
Ya snarled at him, said leave me be…_

Someone handed Kaydel a shot, and she quickly held it up for Rey. Rey grabbed the liquor and tossed it back, then threw the glass to the ground and relished the way it shattered.

“I need the bugger so I can see!” She screamed, and the men went wild.

Howls rang out over the music as Rey ran up and down the table. She was no longer dancing, just flying through the air and the music and the glorious chaos around her. Her foot caught against a crack in the wood, and suddenly she was _really_ flying. But a net of arms caught her before she hit the floor, which only made everyone cheer louder.

Her head was spinning, she couldn’t feel her toes, and every press of skin to hers—Kaydel’s skin, Simon’s skin, strangers’ skin—made her body buzz with unbridled joy. A warm haze suffused her limbs, and she didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until _his_ touch made them snap open.

“I think it’s time for us to go, little one.”

_Little one._

Rey didn’t hesitate; she turned in his arms and buried her face against his broad, hard chest. Even with his shirt damp from the humidity of the bar, Ben smelled divine. Like smoke and amber and whisky. There was something else there, too. Something spicy, crackling, something that made her _burn_ —

His arms came around her, and she thought he might have yelled something to Kaydel, but she was lost in his warmth. She let him lead her to the door.

The cold air hit her as they stepped out onto the streets. A man was waiting for them—he looked like one of Phasma’s. Rey didn’t catch whatever Ben said to him; his words sent the man hurrying off down the street. Ben hoisted her up against his side, looking down at her with a frown.

“Where are your shoes?” He murmured.

“Took ‘em off. Can’t dance in heels.”

A moment later, headlights pierced the shadows of the street and then the Bentley was pulling up in front of them.

Rey took a step at the same moment that Ben’s arm came up under her ass. She yelped as he gathered her up in his arms and walked down to the car.

“What—”

“No shoes, no walking.”

The man who’d collected the car opened the back door for them. Ben tossed Rey onto the seat, following in after her.

She pressed her cheek to the cool glass of the window and sighed. Beside her, Ben sat against the door, leaving as much space as possible between them. Normally, the move would have stung, but she was too drunk for hurt feelings. She was deliciously warm and foggy, and the night flew by in a dizzying blur as they drove down the streets of Manchester.

She must have dozed off, because it seemed only seconds passed before they were pulling up in front of the Edwardian. It was one of Phasma’s finer hotels, the place where she put up her wealthiest clients when they came into town for business. The driver came around to open Ben’s door, and Rey felt strong hands wrap around her waist.

“C’mon, cailín. Out you go.”

Rey moaned, slumping against Ben as he righted her.

“Turn around,” She mumbled, which earned her a frown. But Ben did as instructed, and Rey grinned goofily as she flung herself onto his back, giggling when he let out a low grunt.

“The Knight rides a horse, and the Traveller rides a Knight!” She barked, cackling as he hoisted her up onto his hips and started for the door. He gave her ass a light slap, which only made her laugh harder. Fuck, now she was snorting—

“Wait!” She shrieked, making Ben lurch to a stop in front of the hotel’s double doors. He turned his head to look at her when she didn’t immediately continue.

“Yes?”

“The shepherd’s pie.”

“What?”

“Phasma asked them to bring me a plate of shepherd’s pie,” Rey pouted, “I never got to eat it.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and then it was Ben who was laughing. He doubled over, nearly throwing Rey off his back. His laughter was infectious—deep, raspy—and soon they were both wiping tears from the corners of their eyes.

“Right, well, I’m sure we can get them to send something up…” Ben’s voice still held a hint of amusement as he pulled a door open and led them inside.

The receptionist’s eyes widened as they approached, especially when Rey tipped an imaginary hat and gave the man an aggressive wink. Ben gave the man his name, and Rey giggled as the receptionist fumbled slightly with the keys on his rack, sending her occasional wary glances. He handed Ben a key and cleared his throat.

“Right. Enjoy your stay, Sir. Miss.”

“Thanks! You, too!” Rey chirped, which only boggled the man further. Ben started chuckling again.

Key in hand, they headed upstairs. Rey hummed absently in Ben’s ear and reveled in the feel of his solid shoulders beneath her arms, his hard back pressed to her cheek. She dared to lift her nose to the nape of his neck, where his scent seemed stronger. She could feel herself melting against him, and she had the strangest thought that she’d love nothing more than to sink into him, to dissolve against his skin and have him swallow her up. She wanted to feel him everywhere, all around, wanted to see, hear, smell, taste nothing but Benjamin Solo—

Rey suddenly found herself slipping from his back as they came to stand before a door to one of the hotel suites. She swayed, reacquainting herself with gravity, and watched Ben slide a key into the lock before pushing the door open.

“Here we are,” He muttered, waving to the room inside. She looked through the door—there was a lot of red and gold—then turned back to him.

“Where are you staying?”

“Here.”

“And where am I staying?”

“Here.”

She looked at him hard then, willing the haze to clear from her eyes. He was leaning against the wall beside the door, his jacket parted and his hands in his pant pockets. He had one ankle folded over the other, the picture of casual indifference. But she could see the hesitation there. Could see the color high on his cheeks—not from liquor, but from nerves.

It hit her then.

They would be sharing a room. A suite. Whether the idea had been Phasma’s or Ben’s didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was standing in an empty hallway, a sticky mess of sweat and whisky and addled lust, and she was staring at the most sinfully gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.

And she would be sharing a room with him tonight.

The grin that split her face then made Ben look twice.

“By all means, then,” She gave a dramatic flourish and bit her lip with obvious relish, “After you, Mr. Solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> If you're staring at your screen right now with smoke coming out of your ears, know this: the next chapter...
> 
> ...is basically just porn :)


	7. To Be Alone, in which the Traveller bows before the Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, mates, compatriots...
> 
> I just love you all.
> 
> To show you my love and appreciation, I now present...some smut!
> 
> Chapter song: To Be Alone, by Hozier (it's like it was made for this fic)

**7**

**To be Alone, in which the Traveller bows before the Knight**

Phasma had put them up in the penthouse suite. Rey stumbled in after a rather tense-looking Ben, her eyes blowing wide as she took in the luxurious red drapes, the golden carpet, the chandelier throwing rays of iridescent light across the massive sitting room. Ben crossed the space to open the drapes, and she rushed to the window to look out at the dull glow of the city beneath them. It was late—if Rey had to guess, sunrise would be upon them within a few hours—and the streets were empty save a few drunken stragglers tumbling their way home.

Ben walked to the liquor cabinet beside a large chaise and poured himself a drink. Then he held up a pitcher of what looked like water.

“I’d offer you a whisky, but I think we can both agree you’ve had your fill tonight.”

He poured her a tall glass of water and, drinks in hand, met her at the window. Rey took the glass gladly and drained it in greedy gulps.

They stood a moment in silence, staring out at the blackened city, the tension between them crackling like a midnight fire. Rey looked up at the sky, scanning the stars for constellations. Beside her, Ben seemed to be warring with himself. His hesitation, his obvious uncertainty, was so uncharacteristic of him that Rey found herself smiling. It tickled her to no end that he might be _nervous_ right now. She could smell it on him. It made his scent of amber and smoke spike in waves, the frequency of which shortened or lengthened depending on the angle of her face, the brush of her elbow or her little sighs. Again, she relished the sense of power it gave her. At the same time, it made her feel softer, made her want to give herself over completely to him, to be pliant in his capable hands. It was amazing, she thought, how much could be said in a single breath, in a shift of the shoulders and a stretch of the neck. A whole conversation seemed to play out across the air between them, the words spoken in a language so many had long forgotten. But they knew it. Their bodies spoke it fluently, outpacing the muddled ramblings of their minds, coming to an accord of their own despite their best intentions—

“Tell me something.”

At her words, Ben’s eyes fell on her, and she reveled in the weight of his burning gaze, the way it warmed her skin.

“What is it?”

She turned then, smiling to find she’d been right. Those twin coals were simmering.

“What pills do you take?”

The question obviously wasn’t one he was expecting; his cheeks pinkened further, and he looked down at his whisky glass with a frown.

“I know you must take something. No man of your designation would remain so…civil otherwise.”

“There are many people who find me anything but ‘civil’—”

“I’m not talking about business. I know your reputation. I’ve seen just how brutal you can be. I’m talking about—”

“I know what you’re talking about.”

He swallowed as he said it, still not meeting her eyes. Rey took a step closer, almost laughing at the way he tensed.

“Have you always taken them, then?” She was close enough now to stare up at him, and she smiled when he finally looked at her.

“I—no. Not always. Only when I’ve need for them.”

“And now?” Her eyes fell to the hollow of his throat, “Do you have need for them now?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“How long have you had need for them, Mr. Solo?”

Her hand pressed to his chest, and he flexed unconsciously beneath her touch. His breathing had turned shallow, his grip on the whisky glass so hard Rey worried it might shatter in his grasp.

Suddenly, he was stepping away from her, turning towards the chaise. He drew a hand across his mouth, rubbing roughly, his feet setting to pace across the fine carpet. Rey’s hand hung a moment in the air, mourning the loss of his hard muscle beneath her fingertips. But she would not be deterred.

She wandered past him, aware of the way his eyes followed her, as she made her way through the sitting room and into the master bedroom beyond. She didn’t let her eyes linger on the monstrous bed at its center, wide as an ocean and dressed in gold. Instead, she made for the vanity across from it. It was fully stocked with perfumes, powders, and cologne. She let her fingers trail over the crystal bottles, the bejeweled stoppers capping them. She dared a look at her reflection in the mirror and almost grimaced. She was a mess, her hair a riot of frizzy curls. Her eyes were smudged, her lipstick bleeding over her lip line. But there was something about the look that intrigued her. She looked undone, used in a way that spoke to the pleasures of the evening. Pleasures had. Pleasures yet to come, perhaps…

She heard Ben’s footsteps before his reflection came into focus. Their eyes collided in the mirror, and Rey lifted her hands to her hair, unclasping her barrette. She ran her fingers through the waves, shaking it out, until it fell in loose ringlets around her face and down her shoulders. Ben watched, looking up at her beneath dark lashes and heavy lids.

“You don’t have to take them, you know,” She turned, leaning against the vanity, “The pills. Not with me.”

His eyes dragged down her body, warming every inch they passed. He leaned against the threshold of the entryway, rubbing a thumb across his bottom lip as he swirled his whisky.

“That’s a beautiful dress.”

Rey stared down at herself. She ran a hand across the skirt, looking up to find Ben following the movement greedily.

“It’s Kaydel’s,” She felt a sudden pang of shyness, “I don’t fill it out quite like her, of course, but—”

“I like it. On you. It looks perfect on you.”

Her nerves evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction. The voice inside sighed, that singular part of herself blooming under his praise.

_He likes the dress on you, omega. He thinks you look perfect._

_Perfect,_ his eyes said. _You’re perfect to me, omega._

Her ass slid up to rest more firmly atop the vanity.

“I wore it for you,” She breathed, her legs parting slightly. His gaze snapped back to hers, a flash of something wicked flaring.

“And that lipstick? Is that for me, too?”

“Yes,” She whispered, her hand finding the top of her thigh, sliding lightly over the part where hem gave way to fringe, “It’s all for you, Ben.”

_All for you, Alpha._

“Show me.”

She frowned, not following, but then he was staring at her hand where it rested against her thigh. Their eyes clashed again, and she heard the unspoken command. It sent a thrill through her, and she sucked in a breath.

Slowly, her legs fell open, one knee hiking up slightly. She was fully seated on the vanity now, the already-short skirt of the dress riding up higher. She knew the skin at the tops of her stockings was on display, could see it in the way Ben’s jaw tightened and his scent spiked in the space between them.

Her fingers moved of their own accord, brushing up to dance across the edge of her stocking, stopping where garment and garter met. She knew he could see the shadow of her underwear, a pair of silky black bloomers that barely covered her bottom. These, too, were Kaydel’s, whose job required nothing but the finest lingerie money could buy. Rey’d never paid much mind to undergarments, something she now realized had been a waste. She felt wildly feminine, each brush of satin and lace against her sensitive skin magnifying the lust coursing through her.

“Wider.”

One word, pitched low and rough with need. She did as she was told.

“ _Wider._ ”

Her foot came up to rest at the edge of the vanity. She grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it up until it was bunched at the waist. She was bared to him now, the tight fabric of her bloomers the only thing between Ben’s hungry gaze and her hot flesh. She could feel herself soaking through the silk. Her hand moved towards the apex of her thighs.

“Stop.”

The word was like a clap of thunder, freezing her on the spot. Her fingers hovered at the edge of her panties, her breath stuck in her throat.

Ben pushed off of the wall and walked far too slowly across the room. He came to the foot of the great bed and sat down, hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He held his whisky between his legs, the glass dangling from his fingertips.

“Tuck your finger beneath the edge.”

When she didn’t immediately comply, his eyes took on a hard edge. “ _Do_ it.”

Her index finger slipped under the fabric of her bloomers, awaiting his next command.

“Tug it to the side. All the way.”

She swallowed the whimper on her tongue and carefully pulled aside the fabric, shivering as cool air hit that soft, wet place pulsing between her legs. She could only imagine the picture she made, how obscene it must be. Suddenly, her dress felt too tight, too itchy, and all she wanted was to jump from the vanity and rip off every scrap of fabric clinging to her.

But she didn’t. She just sat there, holding her breath, as Ben stared at her bare pussy.

He set the glass down on the floor, bringing his hands together before his lips as if in prayer. His gaze was a brand against her skin, and Rey felt something wet sliding down her cleft and dripping onto the wood top of the vanity.

“Slide it inside.”

Her finger was there, running a line down her center before dipping in a fraction.

“All the way,” He growled, and she couldn’t hold back the moan this time as she pressed in deep, until her knuckle hit the edge of herself. She curled the digit on instinct, her ass sliding an inch forward and her head falling back to lightly tap the mirror behind her.

“Take it out.”

She whined in protest but did as she was told, another tremor stealing through her when he said, “Now hold it up for me.”

They stared at her finger, both marveling at the slick coating it. Under any other circumstances, Rey would have been humiliated for Ben to see how wet she got just from his words, his voice, but between the lingering warmth of the liquor and her desperate need to please him, the only thing she felt in that moment was anticipation for his next command.

“Taste it.”

Of all the wicked things to ask. It was filthy, deviant, and exactly what she should have expected from a man like Benjamin Solo. She shook all over as she brought her finger to her lips and slid it slowly into her mouth. Her taste bloomed on her tongue, and she moaned softly.

“You look like a peach, little one. Pink and ripe and dripping. Do you taste like a peach, too?”

She shook her head around her finger, not daring to let it go until he told her to.

“No? How do you taste, then?”

Her finger popped free from her mouth and she swallowed thickly.

“Like a woman, sir.”

Ben pressed his prayer hands firmly to his lips, inhaling heavily. His eyes rolled closed, and she thought a growl might have rumbled from his chest.

He liked that. He liked _all_ of that.

“Please,” She mewled before she could stop herself, her wet finger sliding down to drag against the insistent burning alongside her neck, “Ben…”

“Touch yourself, little one. Show me how much you like it.”

Her hand was there, pressing down, pressing back inside. She sighed at the exquisite relief of it, only to whine a moment later when tension stole through her again, a nagging ache sitting high up in her groin. It was a spot she couldn’t reach, something deep inside, something that begged for more, harder, _him_ —

Ben watched her fingers swirl and tease and slide with avarice. His gaze felt like a second set of hands, touching her all over, making her skin blossom with gooseflesh and dampen. She was too hot, her clothes were too tight, she needed to get them off—

“Strip, little one.”

She sighed happily, her free hand twisting behind her back to drag down the zipper of her dress. She shimmied out of the garment, doing her best to divest herself of the dress without halting her hand as it teased and stroked. She could feel her heat, feel how slippery and swollen she was. She could _hear_ it, knew Ben could, too.

The dress fell to the floor, and then she was truly bared to him. Her chest was small enough that she often went without brassiere, and Ben’s eyes devoured her, dragging over the firm swells of her tits, over the flushed skin and the taught peeks of her nipples.

“Touch them.”

She let her hand slide across her collarbone and down, down her chest to skim beneath the rise of her left breast before gathering the soft flesh in her palm and squeezing. They both groaned.

“Tweak it. I know you like that.”

She did, her tongue sliding across her lower lip as her eyes fell on the bulge behind his zipper. She imagined what he would look like, how he would feel in her hand, in her mouth. Her hand picked up its pace, the pleasure beginning to grow, to gather in that way that preceded release.

“Stop.”

She whined pitifully as her hands froze, obeying him despite her desperation to come. But that voice was there, soothing her, encouraging her to listen.

_Be good, omega. Be good and he will reward you. Be good and he’ll make it good, too. So, so good…_

“I can smell you,” He bit out, opening his hands to briefly bury his face in his palms before running them through his hair. “It’s fucking maddening, do you know that? I can fucking _taste_ it on the air…”

“Ben, please,” She was close to tears, her legs shaking from spreading wide, from the desperate need for release, “Please, I can’t—”

“Touch yourself, little one. Let me see how you unravel.”

She needed no further encouragement. Her fingers were back, thrumming over that little bud, dipping down and up, back and forth. And suddenly she was right there, staring over the edge, ready to dive headlong into that glorious abyss below, ready to _black out_ and come to, transformed by the ecstasy.

Her breaths came quickly, each inhale cut short by the next. She couldn’t get enough air. She hovered at the precipice, ready to jump. But something was missing. She needed…she needed…what did she need—

“Come, omega.”

His words.

She needed his words.

_Omega._

_Omega._

_Omega._

_Come, omega._

Rey actually fell from the vanity, sliding down on a long, breathless cry as the orgasm tore through her. One hand flew out to grab the edge, nails scouring the wood. Her legs kicked out in front of her, her head lolling back on her shoulders as her eyes slammed shut against a million stars exploding behind her lids. A low sob ripped free from her chest, punctuated by a tight, high hiccup when her fingers slid across that spot, the one that made her knees shake and her stomach clench.

Ben shot to his feet the moment Rey’s ass hit the floor. She blinked through heavy lids, watching him lurch forward only to stop himself. He hissed, gritting his teeth, his hands fisting at his side. She moaned at the sight of his cock straining behind the taught fabric of his pants. God, he was so big. Did it hurt him, to be so clothed? To be restrained when every jerk of his muscles and twitch of his jaw told Rey he was barely holding back? Barely holding _on_?

“Alpha,” She breathed, and Ben’s eyes closed. Shifting onto to shaky arms, Rey began to crawl to him.

“Fookin’ hell,” He snarled, eyes snapping wide before narrowing on her, “Yes.”

Rey thought nothing of how she looked—whether the sway of her hips was sultry, whether he liked the way her tits trembled as she came to him on hands and knees. She didn’t care that her makeup was likely streaked, that her chest was blotchy and red, her eyes bloodshot with drunken desire. There was nothing but Ben, nothing but the urgent and irresistible need to please him.

Taste him.

Take care of him.

Love him.

Her hands came down on his ankles first, slowly dragging up. The fabric of his pants was soft, expensive, and she liked the way her freckled skin looked against it. She heard him inhale sharply, and when she looked up his head was tipped back, exposing the thick column of his flushed neck. Her hands slid higher.

Her fingers framed the long ridge of his cock, careful not to touch what he’d yet to give her permission to enjoy. But oh, how she wanted to, how she begged him with her eyes to grant her this, give her what he’d so far denied them both. She felt another rush of wetness between her thighs and pressed them together with a tiny gasp. Her fingers found his belt just as his own speared into her hair.

“Take it out.”

She sighed happily, unbuttoning his trousers. He sprang free, falling heavy and hot in her palm. She swallowed.

He was gorgeous, long and thick and hard as hell. His skin—soft and dusky—was deliciously hot, and when she gave him an experimental squeeze, she felt him swell further. A single pearly drop beaded at the head, and she leaned forward to swipe it up. He groaned.

She pushed her hands across his pelvis, ready to pull his trousers down, but he stopped her. She couldn’t help the mewl of protest that fell from her lips.

“Ben, please. I need—”

He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand wrapping around the base of his cock. He gave her chin a swift tug, making her open and cry out softly. Then he was pressing the underside of his cockhead to her bottom lip.

“You don’t need anything but this, little one,” He ground out, bouncing the head lightly against her tongue as it uncurled dutifully beneath him, “This is all you need.”

She gave no further protest, far too engrossed in the heady taste of him. God, he was marvelous, rich and earthy, all spice and man and more, more, she needed _more_ —

“Ah! Bloody hell,” He snarled as she slid forward, taking him deep into her mouth. She moaned around the length of him, his taste exploding on her tongue. Christ, he was swelling, getting thicker with each passing breath. Her tongue slithered against him, memorizing every vein, every groove and curve. As she pushed forward, taking him as deep as possible, her lips grazed the base of him, bumping something round and firm. She ran the tip of her tongue across the swollen skin, and Ben’s hips surged forward, nearly knocking her back and making her eyes water. His hands ran through her hair, a silent apology, but she would have none of that. She pushed forward, did it again.

“Christ, Rey,” He bit out, hands flexing to tug lightly at her roots, “You are a menace.”

The words might have been sharp, but his tone—breathless, a bit desperate—had her preening on the inside. Her hands slid up to cup his balls, rolling and squeezing softly to the rhythm of his broken breaths, his tight huffs and low moans. And still he got bigger.

She could tell he was getting close. His hips had begun a soft rhythm, short and deep, each thrust pushing him to the back of her throat. Her eyes were watering, her chest tight with shallow breaths, but she didn’t dare stop what she was doing. She could taste his pleasure, could smell it burning between them, and she found herself just as desperate for his release as he was. She would make it good. She would give him everything he wanted, would make it so he would keep coming back to her, only her—

His fists clenched in her hair, and his head fell back. She gripped his thighs, feeling him shake beneath her palms, and hollowed her cheeks as he grew so thick she actually worried she wouldn’t be able to pull off of him.

And then he was coming on a breathless shout, hard and long and hot down her throat in thick spurts that she swallowed with greedy little moans. Her hands slid around to his ass to coax him as deep as she could take him, as deep as he would go. His taste filled her mouth, his scent filled her nose, and she closed her eyes as everything in her world fell away until there was nothing but Ben Solo draining himself into her. A rivulet of cum slipped from the corner of her mouth.

“Good,” He panted, chest collapsing on a heavy breath as he kept pumping into her mouth, “It’s good, little one. Always so good.”

Rey’s chest swelled, emotion threatening to spill free from the corners of her eyes. 

_Alpha says its good._

She pressed her cheek to his thigh, his cock heavy in her mouth. He was still hard, and though she could feel him softening some, she didn’t dare pull off of him. His fingers ran absently through her hair, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Look at you,” He murmured, the tone almost reverent. She turned her gaze up to him then, noting the flush of his cheeks, the glazed look in his eyes. They stayed like that for an interminable amount of time, until Ben had softened enough to finally slip free from her mouth, swiping his thumb across her lip to gather the cum that lingered there and offering it to her. She licked it clean, mourning the taste as soon as he pulled away. Worry stole through her—would he leave her now? He must have known, because one moment he was tucking himself back into his pants, then the next he was gathering her in his arms, holding her close. And then he was carrying her to the bathroom.

“Let me draw you a bath—”

“No! Wait,” She pressed a palm to his shoulder, blushing when he frowned at her, “Sorry, it’s just…I want…”

He arched a brow, and her blush deepened.

“Don’t get shy on me now, little one. It’s a bit late for that.”

Rey hiked her shoulders, her chin tucking on reflex.

“I smell like you. I don’t want to wash it off.”

Ben’s arms tightened around her, a rumble of satisfaction vibrating through his chest. He turned back to the bed, setting Rey on her feet to pull back the blankets for her.

Having tucked her in, Ben straightened, and she thought she saw something like timidity flit briefly across his face. He stared down at her and cleared his throat.

“I can stay on the chaise if you’d prefer…”

She couldn’t hold back her giggle. “Like you said, it’s a bit late for that.”

She reached around to pat the space beside her, and Ben smirked. He held up a finger before making his rounds through the suite, turning off the lamps and throwing the room into shadow. She thought she heard him undressing, removing his vest and shirt, and she silently whined at the missed opportunity to see him so bared. But then he slid in behind her, pulling her back to his front, and all that mattered was the feel of his skin against hers and the tickle of his breath at her neck.

“We are very bad at being good,” She mumbled into the pillows, and Ben chuckled behind her.

“I’ve never been _good_ , so it seems pointless to start now…”

“I hope you mean that,” Rey yawned, nestling closer, “I would hate to wake up and realize this was all a dream.”

She felt his lips at her temple, soft and warm as they pressed to her skin. Exhaustion was upon her now, making it hard to grasp his next words.

“It’s real, little one. Very real.”

Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, sleep claimed her quickly. She welcomed the darkness, fading into blissful oblivion on a final, wistful thought.

Ben Solo still hadn’t kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! We are doing the long-form plot line, so things are getting teased out, but hopefully this was sufficiently satisfying to keep you coming back for more ;)


	8. Do I Wanna Know // R U Mine? in which Some Things are Made Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL I LOVE YOU. I am living for the comments! Keep 'em coming! They're my favorite part of all of this!
> 
> Things are about to get pretty dark/angsty/plot-heavy in the next 2-3 chapters. So before we jump into the drama, I thought another dose of smut was in order. Enjoy some *highly* NSFW content before everything goes to shit :D
> 
> Chapter songs: Do I Wanna Know // R U Mine?, both by Arctic Monkeys (in this order!)

**8**

**Do I Wanna Know // R U Mine? in which Some Things are Made Clear**

Three things came to Rey’s mind when she opened her eyes the next morning.

First, she was lying in what might have been the most comfortable bed in England.

Second, she was alone in said bed, twisted up in the sheets and naked save for her garter belt, bloomers, and dirty stockings.

Three, she smelled coffee.

She rolled over, pushing herself up onto her elbows. The room was far too bright for someone who’d drunk a gallon’s worth of whisky the night before, and she groaned, shielding her eyes as someone dragged a curtain wider, letting in even _more_ light.

“Good morning, Sunbeam.”

As the night came flooding back to her, Rey frowned and sat up. Considering whose arms she’d fallen asleep in, Phasma was _not_ the person she’d expected to wake up to.

Rey’s aunt sat in full dress at the window, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. She grinned at Rey over the edge of the paper.

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself last night.”

It was in that moment that Rey realized the blanket had fallen to her waist; she scrambled to cover her bare chest, her face flaming.

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed, darling. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Where,” Rey cleared her throat heavily, “Where’s Ben?”

“Downstairs, meeting with some associates of mine about investing in renovations to the Claremont Lounge. It’s quite popular with the Derby community. Think he’s looking to make some inroads before next season’s races.”

Rey brushed the tangled hair from her face and took stock of herself. She was a mess. She lifted her arm and took a tentative sniff, wrinkling her nose.

“I thought we’d have a talk,” Phasma continued, flipping the page, “I’ve yet to get you to myself since you’ve arrived.”

“What did you want to talk about?” Rey hedged carefully, picking at the stitching of the comforter.

Phasma finally folded the paper and set it down on the end table beside her seat. She turned to Rey, who did her best to meet her gaze without blushing.

“Things are getting complicated, Sunbeam. Business is…tricky right now. Not just for families like ours. The political situation these days is delicate, to say the least. The government’s cracking down on labor, thinks everyone who works for a day’s wage is a secret communist. There’s talk of a general strike, and the police are moving into our cities, making demands. Never mind what’s going on across the channel. I find this Mussolini fellow _far_ more concerning than the Soviets—”

“What are you saying, Phasma?” Rey snapped, then blushed. She hadn’t meant for it to come out so clipped, but her head hurt too much for beating around the bush.

Phasma took a deep breath, lacing her fingers together beneath her chin.

“I’m saying that, in times like these, it doesn’t hurt to have allies, but you should also be careful about where you place your trust. Everyone’s after something, regardless of their intentions. You and I are no exception. We live in a world of transactions—”

“Is that how you see it?” Rey laughed a touch bitterly, giving a jerk of her chin at the room, “That I’m selling myself to Benjamin Solo in exchange for his protection?”

“I might have seen it that way before,” Phasma said simply, shrugging, “I certainly expected as much when I sent you down the canal to ask him for a job. But that was before I saw the way he looks at you, darling.”

Rey’s anger dissipated, and she looked back down at the comforter.

“And… _how_ , exactly, does he look at me?”

Phasma smiled. “Like there’s nothing else to look at.”

Rey’s chest expanded with an emotion that Phasma’s next words quickly deflated.

“Just…make sure the horse you hitch your saddle to isn’t going to take you down the wrong road.”

Rey frowned, ready to protest, but Phasma was already standing up, grabbing her coffee and newspaper off the table.

“We are due to meet with a building inspector at noon. Get yourself cleaned up and meet us downstairs. You’ve got an hour.”

*****

Rey found Ben in the dining room, sitting at a table with Phasma and two men Rey had never seen before. He smelled her before he saw her, if the tilt of his head and flare of his nose were any indications.

“Afternoon, ma’am—oh! My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Rey jumped, her hand flying to her throat, as a waiter in a pressed shirt and black slacks appeared beside her, materializing as if from nowhere.

“Quite alright,” She laughed, smoothing her hand down her front self-consciously. The young man smiled.

“The kitchen is about to close, shall I put something in for you beforehand?”

“She’ll have the house breakfast,” Phasma called out, ushering Rey over. The waiter bowed politely and took off, leaving Rey to make her way to the table.

Ben said nothing as Rey approached, but his eyes tracked her every movement. Rey found herself assaulted by anxious thoughts, a wave of unexpected dread sweeping over her. Had he spent the morning replaying every second of their evening together, as she had? Was the lust that saturated their room just a trick of the whisky? Would he still find her lovely in the light of day, in her mauve drop-waist dress with the simple quarter-length sleeves and modest neckline? With her brown curls pulled back casually at the nape of her neck? With her black t-strap heels traded in for practical brown oxfords? She found it hard to hold his gaze, a flush creeping up her neck.

He made to stand as she came to the table, but to both of their surprise, one of the other men rose first.

“Good morning! Rey, is it?”

He was the younger of the two, mid-30s perhaps. He was smartly dressed, his suit bespoke yet sensible, and the smile he flashed her was not wholly unattractive. He was, all in all, a handsome enough man, not a head turner but still. What _did_ catch Rey’s eye was the way his gaze drank her in, lingering just beyond customary politeness.

“Ah, yes,” She nodded, settling down in the chair he’d pulled out for her with a tentative smile, “Thank you.”

The man gave her another bright grin before returning to his place the table. Rey stole a glance at Ben to find him openly glaring at the man over his half-eaten plate of eggs and toast. Rey’s eyes darted to Phasma, who looked to be hiding a smile behind her teacup.

“Yes, well, Rey, this is Charles McDowell, my contractor” Phasma motioned to the older man, “And his accountant, Oliver Brown. We were just wrapping up some business about the Claremont.”

“Mr. Solo here is keen to invest in our renovations of the adjoining restaurant,” The younger one, Oliver, chimed in. Rey didn’t miss the way he turned his body to fully face her as he spoke.

“Sounds like smart business,” She offered politely, her eyes slanting sideways to Ben, “The Claremont’s patronage is substantial. I can only imagine it will grow with the addition—oh, thank you.”

The waiter was back, setting a plate of eggs, toast, and breakfast sausage in front of her.

“Precisely!” Oliver smiled wider, “Phasma tells us you work for Mr. Solo’s company, Rey. Are you—”

“She’s hungry, is what she is,” Ben growled, his hand a fist on the table. He turned his scowl on Rey, “Eat. We’re running late.”

His tone could cut glass, and the look in his eyes might have once made her recoil. Rey felt her ears turning red, but she met his glare with a scowl of her own. Slowly, she grabbed her fork and knife. Eyes still on Ben, she stabbed the sausage on her plate with enough force to make the china rattle, dragging the knife roughly through the meat. Ben just kept glowering at her, oblivious to the way Phasma’s shoulders had begun to shake with silent laughter that she tried her best to stifle with a napkin.

“Right, well,” Oliver’s smile wavered, his shoulders curving slightly, “Quite alright. It’s a short drive from here, so need to rush—”

“Mr. McDowell,” Phasma wiped her mouth, smoothing down the upturned corners, “Would you mind supplying me with a copy of those designs you were showing us earlier?”

With the other members of their party properly distracted—thank you, Phasma—Rey focused on her methodical evisceration of the breakfast sausage. She could feel Ben’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her face, but she’d be damned if she looked at him right now. Her embarrassment had morphed into a righteous indignation, and she clung to the strength it gave her.

How dare he speak to her like that, after everything that had happened between them. After everything that had happened _last night_. This was a business meeting with her aunt’s associates, and he was treating her like a spoiled child who refused to eat her vegetables. It was one thing to keep up appearances for the sake of maintaining professionalism. It was another thing to humiliate her publicly, talking down to her like she was nothing more than a whore he’d made the mistake of letting stay the night.

“Rey—” Ben whispered low, his hand sliding beneath the table to brush fleetingly over her knee. She let her silverware drop to her plate.

“Finished,” She exclaimed, pushing back from the table and leaving him to paw at air. “Shall we?”

They didn’t speak as their group filed out of the Edwardian, and when the cars pulled up Rey deliberately walked past the Bentley and climbed into the back of Phasma’s Rolls Royce.

“Honeymoon over so soon?” Phasma muttered under breath as they pulled away from the curb. Rey rolled her eyes but said nothing, dropping her chin in her hand. It was going to be a long day.

The Claremont Lounge was Phasma’s oldest venue and had, admittedly, seen better days. The bar was still open, but they’d closed down the ballroom and terrace while they went about making the renovations. The driver dropped them off in the alley in front of the side entrance, where Oliver and Mr. McDowell were already waiting for them. Rey avoided Oliver’s gaze, adjusting her coat against the fall chill. The sound of tires splashing through puddles carried down the alley, followed by the whine of brakes. From the corner of her eye, Rey caught Ben stepping out of the Bentley and making his way towards them. She kept close to Phasma, her anger outweighing the pang of embarrassment she felt for literally hiding beneath her aunt’s imposing shadow. Mr. McDowell pushed open the door.

“Watch your step,” Oliver said as they crossed the threshold into the restaurant. “It’s a bit of a drop.”

He offered his hand to both her and Phasma as they stepped down into the gutted dining room. Phasma waved him off warmly, but Rey could feel Ben coming up behind her, and pettiness drove her to take Oliver’s hand with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” She purred, bringing color to the man’s cheeks. Behind her, Ben growled low.

“Right, as you can see, we’ve torn out most of the booths to make way for more tables,” Mr. McDowell waved at a corner of the dining room, “And over there we will blow out the wall and hang velvet curtains instead. Give you some flexibility, you see. You can draw them for private parties, or open them up for higher capacity…”

Rey wandered the great hall, taking in the places where booths has been stripped and floorboards were torn up to expose the plumbing beneath. She could feel Oliver lingering off to the side, but it was Ben’s footsteps behind her that had her moving further into the old restaurant in the hopes of putting space between them.

Coming to the far end of the room, Rey found a long hallway leading back towards the kitchen. She turned briefly, her gaze colliding with Ben’s. His jaw was tight, his eyes hard and dark. Even in her indignation, the tiny voice deep down whined at the look, cowering beneath his stare and tugging at her thoughts.

_Alpha is angry! You’ve upset him! Make it right, make it right, make it—_

“Mr. Solo,” McDowell motioned to a far corner of the dining room, “What do you think of a stage here? We envision hosting a bi-weekly performance, perhaps contract a resident pianist, maybe even a singer…”

The moment Ben’s eyes released hers, Rey turned down the hall. She wanted away from him, away from the voice inside begging her to go to him on hands and knees and supplicate herself. It gnawed at her, that primal need to please, and not for the first time in her life—hell, not for the first time in the past few _days_ —did she curse her stupid nature and its demand to be demeaned.

She pushed through the doors leading into the kitchen and nearly tripped over a washtub discarded on the floor. Old serving carts stood next to stacks of chairs pushed against the wall. The prep counters were cluttered with plates and cutlery and crates of unopened champagne. She ducked beneath a rack of pots and pans, passing the stoves and sinks as she crossed the kitchen. At the other end of the room, a door led to a large pantry full of flour sacks, empty containers, and glass jars. She found a string hanging from the ceiling and gave it a tug. The little room flooded with light.

She ran a fingertip over one of the jars, pulling back to find it covered in dust. The Claremont’s restaurant had been closed for upwards of six months, and she wondered how quickly renovations would continue now that Ben seemed keen to invest in the project. It struck her then that she knew very little about his many businesses, as well as the extent of his wealth. Truth be told, such things mattered little to her. Money was a means to an end, a way of keeping one’s head above water. It could give you wings, or cut them, but from what Rey had seen, having too much money could be almost as burdensome as not having enough of it. Money turned men to dragons, holed up in their caves lording over their treasures, always sleeping with an eye open lest a thief come in the night and steal it all out from under them. Such a life held little appeal to her—

The sound of the kitchen doors swinging open and shutting with a dull bang made Rey jump. She huddled against the pantry shelf on instinct, heart in her throat, as the sound of footsteps echoed beyond the wall. She knew those steps, would know them _anywhere._

He stalked closer, setting her heart to race like a hummingbird in her throat. She could feel him, the agitation rolling off him in waves, the way it spiked his scent and made her own stomach quiver in answer. Just when she thought he’d found her, the footsteps stopped, and a hush fell over the space. Seconds passed, her own shallow breaths the only sound she heard. Frowning, she stepped timidly out of the pantry.

The kitchen was empty.

A sudden swell of panic crested in her chest, and she lurched forward in the direction of the door just as a firm hand clamped around her arm and yanked her backwards.

She had no time to scream, no time to do more than suck in a short breath, before her back was meeting the nearest wall and Ben’s lips were crashing down on hers. So sudden was the assault, it took her brain a moment to process exactly what was happening. She stood there, frozen beneath the hard press of his mouth, eyes wide and hands suspended at her sides.

“Open,” He growled against her, and it was as if a spell had been broken. Her lips parted on a gasp, and then his tongue was there, plunging inside to lick across the roof of her mouth. The taste of him exploded on her tongue, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped free as he pressed against her, grinding his hard length into her stomach. His hands came up to hold her face to his, those large palms cradling her almost tenderly even as his tongue plundered, stealing her breath and making her legs shake.

God, his taste. It was beyond anything she’d imagine, heady and spicy and _his tongue_. Each stroke over hers was heaven and hell, pain and pleasure and everything in between. She’d known his touch, had known what it was like to touch him in return, but this? This was _everything_.

His hands were restless. Holding her face, dragging down her neck, sliding lower to slip beneath her coat and knead her ass, pressing her hips closer to his. Her own hands were just as greedy, taking in the slope of his neck, the rounded caps of his shoulders and the hard ropes of muscle spanning his back. She ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, marveling at how silky the thick waves were. She gave a soft tug at the same time he sucked her lip between his teeth, gasping at the way he hissed and bit down on the tender flesh.

“Christ,” He snarled, and suddenly he was lifting her, pushing her up the wall. Her legs came around his hips on instinct, and she moaned when he rolled his length against her, fucking her through the layers of fabric between them. He set a steady rhythm, rocking into her in a way that told her _exactly_ how he’d take her. Her calves rested limply over the hard curves of his ass, her hands gripping his biceps tightly, holding on as sensation overwhelmed her.

“Ben…” She begged, though she wasn’t entirely sure what for. One of his free hands encircled her throat, the other holding her hip firmly as he rode her.

“You ran from me,” He ground out, “Don’t ever do that again.”

“You were so mean,” She whined, her head rolling back as his tongue snaked from her collarbone to the underside of her jaw, “You humiliated me—”

“You were flirting with another man _right. In. Front. Of me._ You turned that sweet little smile on him only hours after you crawled to me on hands and knees and swallowed my cock like it was your last _fookin'_ meal.”

His grip around her neck tightened fractionally, and the next roll of his hips made her cry out thinly. His nose dragged down the length of hers, his breath ghosting over her lips. She darted her tongue out, running the tip across his bottom lip in a way that made him groan.

“Do you really think,” She huffed, eyelids fluttering, “I’d want anything to do with a buttoned-up accountant when all I can think about is…”

The words died in her throat as her nerves set in—she was sharing too much.

“When all you can think about is what, Rey?” Another torturous thrust. “What is it you’re thinking about?”

“You,” She whispered, closing her eyes at the shocking gentleness of his thumb brushing across her cheek, “All I think about is you Ben. It’s—it scares me…”

He slowed the pace of his hips, until he was simply holding her against the wall. His eyes searched her face, looking for who knew what. And then something dark ignited within their pitch-black centers, and the smile that slowly split his face made her shiver.

“That’s good, little one. That’s very good.”

Suddenly, they were moving. Ben’s arm came around her, and Rey found herself spinning and stumbling has he dragged her back into the pantry, the door shutting rather forcefully behind them. He crowded her against the back shelf, and her hip collided with an oversized bag of flour. But he didn’t relent, and Rey found herself leaning back against the sack, her hands coming up to grip the shelf behind her.

“But it’s not you who should be scared, at least not of me. You should be scared for fuckers like Oliver Brown. Because I would never lay a hand on you, but I make no promises about other men. Certainly not ones who’d dream of touching you.”

Her legs spread automatically to accommodate his hips as he pressed back against her.

“Ben, we can’t do this here…” Rey sighed as Ben’s hands came down on her, one driving her dress up as it skimmed her thigh, the other dragging down her front to palm a breast. Her body betrayed her words as she arched into his touch.

“Can’t we? As of this morning, I’m an investor in this building. I believe that gives me license to do whatever the fuck I want.”

“And what, exactly,” Rey bit her lip, Ben’s thumb brushing over her nipple as his other hand pushed her jacket from her shoulders, “Do you want to do?”

“I want to make some things clear.”

Without warning, Rey found herself flipped around and abruptly bent over the sack of flour. She barely had time to process the change in position before her jacket was pulled free and thrown to the floor. Ben lifted her skirt to expose her from the waist down. She yelped as he yanked her knickers to her ankles, her hands flying to the shelf to steady herself.

“This,” He said, cupping her lewdly in his palm, “Is mine.”

Rey moaned, pressing her head to her forearm as Ben’s fingers speared her. She was too far gone to care about the mess she was no doubt making in his hand, could only push back against the feel of his fingers and sigh as he slid in and out, each press deeper than the last. His free palm dragged down the back of her leg, and she heard him shifting behind her. A moment later, his breath danced over the top of her thigh.

“You are so bloody beautiful here,” He whispered, fingers spreading her wide, “All small and soft and pink.”

Her skin pebbled in gooseflesh as she realized what he was doing‚ what he meant to do. She turned her head to look over her shoulder and found him kneeling behind her, one hand deep inside her while the other skimmed up her thigh to grip her ass firmly. He stared at her in open wonder, shooting her one wicked glance before leaning forward and licking her firmly from bottom to top.

“Oh God,” She whimpered, her head falling back against her arm with a light thump. No one had ever tasted her there. It was different than his fingers, softer somehow. And yet it was that softness that had her squirming and panting, the absence of pressure where she needed it most driving her utterly mad.

“Fookin’ hell. You taste like heaven, little one,” He murmured against her weeping center, “Like pleasure itself.”

She felt like it, as if pleasure had assumed corporeality within her, taking over every fiber of her being. She could feel herself approaching the edge of something monumental, a fine sheen of perspiration misting her skin. Her fingers slipped a bit against her hold on the shelf, her arms shaking with the effort to hold herself up. Ben tilted her hips to grant him better access, his tongue relentless against her. It was too much. It was not enough.

Rey focused on his hands. The left was cupped beneath the swell of her ass to spread her open, sometimes giving her a light squeeze. But the right…the right hand had begun to move. Sliding up her leg, his thumb ran over her until it was there, alongside his tongue. At the first brush to her center, Rey gasped. At the second, she jerked. At the third, she moaned.

The sound set something off in Ben. His left hand on her tightened. The breath he exhaled over her then was a heavy gust, not quite a groan, and yet the force of it on her skin had her rocking back against his mouth in search of more. His grip was nearly bruising now, but his tongue stayed soft, the tripping motion of his thumb light and steady. It made her absolutely crazed with lust and fear and _need_.

Rey began to pant, deep exhales separated by staccato inhales that Ben seemed to match. If he moaned when she did, it was muted against her. But she felt it. In that moment, she felt everything.

“Yes… _please_ …”

Her noises pitched higher then, at once soft and sharp, and it made him hum against her. The world condensed to that single sensation. Her skin was humming. Her heart was humming. The little voice inside of her was humming.

Hum.

Hum.

Hum.

_Hum._

With a shocked cry, Rey came violently against his tongue, finally losing her grip on the shelf. But Ben was there, an arm wrapping around her waist to keep her standing as he drew out her orgasm with his perfect tongue and magical hands. Rey folded over the flour bag, not caring about the light puff of white that plumed up when her hands hit the top before she collapsed to her elbows. It dragged on and on, until she felt lightheaded and a bit unsettled. Her heart trembled, emotion making her throat tighten. It was pleasure enough to make her cry, and she felt raw and needy in more ways than one.

Ben surged up then, dragging Rey’s dress up beneath her shoulder blades to expose the expanse of her back. In a daze, Rey turned her head over her shoulder. Ben had undone the front of his slacks and taken himself in hand, staring down at her with a look that was half predator, half lost boy.

“There is nothing like your body,” He muttered, almost to himself, one hand smoothing over her ass before giving it a light swat that made her hips buck and her breath catch. And then he was pressing himself between her cheeks, tunneling back and forth in a way that made her toes curl. Each slide was thick and wet, and Rey realized that he’d gathered her own slickness to lubricate himself. She felt the underside of his cock rubbing over her entrance and higher, passing back and forth across that dark part of her that none had ever entered. It was enough to have her clenching again on a phantom pulse.

Through the haze of her pleasure, Rey heard the sound of someone coming down the hallway. She shot Ben a frantic look, but he simply clenched his jaw and stared down the length of his nose at her, picking up his pace.

“Let them hear,” He bit out darkly, his hips slapping her ass with a soft clap. She whimpered, dropping her chest to the flour sack and sighing at how good each scrape of her tits against the rough material felt. Christ, she could come again like this, couldn’t she?

“That’s a good girl. I can smell it. You’re going to go over with me, aren’t you? Tell me to stop. They’re getting closer.”

She couldn’t. Rey turned her head, her cheek pressed to the course cloth, and looked up at Ben.

“Don’t stop.”

His lids grew heavy and then he was riding her hard, the tendons of his neck stark as he tossed his head back a moment later and came all over her back. The vision he made was so blistering Rey had to bite the sack to muffle her cries as she followed him, her body clenching on nothing.

“Ms. Kenobi? Mr. Solo? Are you in here?”

It was Oliver Brown.

They were both breathing hard, staring at each other through the fog of their lust. Rey thought she saw something tender pass over Ben’s face, but then Oliver called for them again, and whatever softness had been there hardened instantly.

“We’re busy, Brown.”

There was a loaded pause, followed by a throat clearing.

“Right, well, so sorry to bother, but someone from your company called Phasma’s offices—”

“I’ll call them back later,” Ben’s finger had begun to drag through a stripe of cum along Rey’s lower back. She shuddered.

“It sounded quite urgent, I’m afraid—”

“Mr. Brown, if you don’t get the _fuck_ out of this kitchen—”

“Ben.”

This time, the voice on the other side of the door was Phasma’s. Rey and Ben exchanged a tense look, and then he was pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and surreptitiously wiping her off. Rey pulled her dress down and her knickers up, grabbing her coat from the floor while Ben tucked himself back into his slacks. God, how was she going to face her aunt after this?

“This better be fookin' important—” Ben growled as he threw open the door, Rey tucked behind him in her best effort to become invisible. His eyes landed on Phasma, and the look on her face had both him and Rey pulling up short.

“Marco came running as soon as he got the call.” Phasma’s tone was heavy, almost…sad.

Ben stepped forward. “What is it?”

Phasma’s eyes found Rey, and her blood ran cold at the remorse she saw there.

“There’s been an attack on Birmingham,” She turned back to Ben. “Your man Armitage has been shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT THE FOOK IS GOING ON your thoughts below


	9. Tupelo, in which the Traveller’s time runs out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I love how thirsty this crowd is. Bunch of heauxs after my own heart ❤️
> 
> Okay, so like I said earlier...things are about to get stupid angsty/drama-filled/plot heavy. This chapter (and the one after) will be shorter and less sexy, but a LOT will be revealed about Rey's past. Also, we will finally be introduced to some Ben POV next chapter, which I'm personally stoked to write. 
> 
> Bear with me, y'all! I'll do my best to keep the tension high!
> 
> Chapter Song: Tupelo, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds ('tupelooooooo' <\-- me the whole time while writing this)

**9**

**Tupelo, in which the Traveller’s time runs out**

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’re staying here.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are, little one. Until I can figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Ben, I’ll be fine—”

“ _No_ , Rey. I can’t—fookin’ hell. I can’t keep you _safe_ right now.”

“Please, Ben” She’d begged, “Don’t do this.”

“I’ll send for you when all this is over.”

That was the last thing Ben had said to her before slamming the Bentley’s door and pulling away from the curb. She’d stood there, stunned, tears simmering in her eyes as she watched him drive away. He hadn’t even kissed her goodbye.

Two weeks had passed since an attack on Birmingham left several Knights of Ren dead and Armie in the hospital with a shattered shoulder blade and one blinded eye. Two weeks had passed since Ben climbed behind the wheel of the Bentley and drove south. Two weeks Rey had waited, biding her time at the Falcon with Kaydel, her heart lurching every time a phone rang or someone came in with a message for Phasma.

Not a single word from Ben in all that time.

“He’s just trying to protect you, Rey,” Kaydel had assured her one night while Rey sat at the bar, staring into her whisky glass like it might swallow her and finally put an end to this torment. “He’ll send for you as soon as things are taken care of. I’m sure of it.”

That had been three days ago.

Phasma did her best to keep Rey busy, giving her odd jobs around the bar. Oliver Brown came by a few times with paperwork for the Claremont, attempting to strike the occasional conversation when they crossed paths. But his face just reminded Rey of the last time she’d seen Ben—of the dark taste of his jealousy, the way it lit a fire beneath her. She replayed their time in the pantry in her mind, until she couldn’t sleep the night through for thoughts of his lips on her skin, his hands kneading and spreading her to take all the pleasure he had to give. She cried herself to sleep at the memory of his tongue tracing her lips, her sex, and prayed that their first kiss would not be their last.

It was half past three when Marco, Phasma’s messenger boy, came into the Falcon with a telegram.

_Tomorrow, 9 o’clock. Be ready at the corner._

Rey had nearly collapsed right there at the bar, the relief so acute it brought tears to her eyes. She told Phasma that night, who seemed a bit concerned that the message had not gone through her personal line, but all it took was a call down to the Birmingham offices to ensure it was, in fact, real.

“Perhaps you should stay a bit longer—”

“Don’t even start,” Rey had warned, running about her rooms to gather the meager possessions she’d brought with her, “I’ll make the journey on foot if I have to.”

“Ay, you would now, wouldn’t you?” Phasma had chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Rey with soft eyes that carried a hint of something like heartbreak.

“I remember what it’s like. I would have walked to the edge of the Earth for your aunt Liza. Would do it now if I thought it would bring her back.”

Rey had stopped then, finally looking at her aunt. Phasma had taken Liza Kenobi for a wife when the only thing more shocking than a woman marrying another woman was a Mancunian marrying a Traveller. Where Phasma was rough, Liza had been soft, soothing the Madam of Manchester’s infamous temper with her bell-like laughter and secretive smile. The flu had taken Liza like so many others, and there was a time when Phasma never left her rooms except to grab a fresh bottle of gin from behind the bar. That’s how Rey remembered her, those first days when she’d come to stay with Phasma. In a way, they both saved each other that summer. Rey had suddenly found herself a lamb amongst the wolves, and Phasma was a widower without purpose. One needed to be protected, the other to protect.

Rey knew Phasma still saw her that way—as a girl in need of safeguarding. She wasn’t wholly wrong, and Rey would always be grateful for the refuge of her aunt’s arms. But Rey wasn’t completely vulnerable, not anymore. Nor was Phasma alone in protecting Rey from those who would see her harmed. Ben would take care of her, too.

She woke with the sun the next morning. She ate breakfast with Phasma and Kaydel, doing her best to enjoy the moment; who knew when she’d see them next? Under normal circumstances, she would have been loath to leave them so suddenly, but she found herself struggling to hold conversation, her mind already miles south. Was Ben safe? What was the nature of the attack, and had Armie recovered from his injuries? Did they know who was responsible? Had they already dispensed with the threat? She prayed so.

By the time 8:30 struck, Rey was coming down the stairs with her bag in hand. Kaydel had tears in her eyes, and Rey gathered her in her arms and squeezed.

“I love you, wee Traveller,” Kaydel sniffed into her neck.

“Love you more,” Rey whispered, pressing a kiss to her friend’s cheek. They pulled apart, and Rey turned to Phasma. The Madam’s eyes were misty, but she squared her shoulders and planted her fists on her hips.

“You call as soon as you arrive, not a moment later, you hear? And if whatever mess Solo’s gotten himself into isn’t solved by this time, you come straight back. I’ll put extra detail out if needed. This is still my city, and I’ll not have a bunch of Glasgow bastards run my niece out of town into worse trouble than she’s already been saddled with—”

Rey threw herself at her aunt, earning a huff of surprise before Phasma’s arms were wrapping around her and holding tight.

“Love you, Phasma,” Rey mumbled, taking one last inhale of her aunt’s smoke and rosewater scent, “Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, Sunbeam, you’ve nothing to thank me for. I love you to pieces, sweet girl.”

After another round of teary kisses and fierce embraces, Rey took her leave of both women and stepped out onto the sidewalk, making for the corner of the block. The streets were busy with people going about their daily errands. She stood at the edge of the curb, taking in the bustle of urban life in an effort to distract herself from the cloying anxiety to see Ben. Cars honked their horns as people ran across the street, and a man’s shoulder clipped hers in his haste to cross before a trolley came. She stepped back to avoid the splash of water kicked up by a passing car, looking over her shoulder on instinct. Across the street, a car sat parked beneath the shadow of a building. She could make out the shape of three men seated inside, two in the front and one in the back, their heads turned in her direction. A chill ran up her spine; she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out their faces.

A car pulled up suddenly in front of her, two men inside. The man riding passenger leaned out the window, pulling his cigarette from his lips and pointing it at her.

“You the Kenobi girl?”

Rey didn’t recognize either man, but there was no mistaking their newsboy caps and smart suits. She nodded, and the man jumped out of the car and opened her door.

“The Knights of Ren are at your service, miss.”

Climbing into the backseat, Rey turned to get one last look at the car across the street. She watched it as they pulled away from the curb and drove on. Eventually, they turned a corner and she lost sight of it behind a bank building. Only then did she shift around and settle back against the seat, taking a breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it.

The streets began to thin out as city gave way to country. The clouds overhead had been threatening rain all morning, and as they turned onto a gravel road, what started as a light drizzle quickly turned into a steady shower. The chime of droplets hitting the roof of the car soothed her nerves, and Rey rested her head against the glass, watching the green pasture fly by. It reminded her of the Dublin countryside, and she felt a sudden pang of unbearable homesickness. Would she ever go back? Most likely not. She found herself fantasizing about a summer’s eve by an open fire, sprawling out on a blanket with Ben at her side. She would sing him poetry and he would cook their meal over the flames. They would watch the blue sky give over to the stars, and he would pull her close as the shadow of night fell over them.

Press his lips to hers.

Draw her dress up, her knickers down.

Roll her over and slide in with a single perfect thrust.

Tell her he loved her as he brought them both over the edge beneath the moonlight…

Something pulled at the edge of her thoughts, that mysterious feeling she’d always headed. Rey opened her eyes and stared out the window. A man was standing alone in the fields.

No, not a man.

A ghost.

_The ghost of her grandfather_.

Rey’s spine snapped taught. She pressed a hand to the glass, her gaze locking with the warm blue eyes of Obadiah Kenobi, who stood amongst the tall grasses and hay bales in his worn work shirt and khaki slacks held up with black suspenders. Beneath the left strap, a blood stain spread across his chest, right over his heart.

Holding her gaze, he lifted an arm and pointed down the road. She followed the line of his finger, looking through the front windshield. The road stretched out in front of them, narrow and empty. She turned backed to him, not understanding. He dipped his chin, giving her a loaded look. He kept pointing, that firm gaze demanding.

_Again. Look closer._

Rey stared back out the windshield. It was raining fairly hard now, which might have explained why it took her so long to make out the shape of a black car driving down the road in their direction. When she looked back at her grandfather, he nodded his head behind her. Rey glanced over her shoulder, and her stomach turned.

The car from Manchester was following them.

“We have to get off this road,” She croaked out, her voice rough and reedy. The driver cast her a curious glance in the rearview mirror.

“’Scuse me, miss?”

“We have to get off this road, right now. I think…I think we are being followed—”

“Oy, Michael, watch out!—”

They lurched suddenly to the side, but it was too late. The black car ahead had accelerated, clipping them on the left side as they turned. The impact was enough to send them careening right and running off the road. Rey cried out as they bounced and skidded, sliding down a shallow ravine and crashing through the wire fence separating the fields. Her forehead smacked against the roof the car, and she squeeze her eyes shut as glass shattered around them. A tire exploded, and they came to a hard stop against a bale of hay.

Rey’s ears rang, her head spinning and her eyes bleary with tears. Through the haze of disorientation, she heard men yelling and the distant clap of gunshots. She lifted her head, and the first thing her eyes fell on was the driver, his upper half hanging out of the windshield. He was still, too still—

The man in the passenger seat was yelling something at her, but she couldn’t make it out through the ringing in her ears. He gave a frustrated snarl, and then he was yanking at her, urging her to get out of the car. She made to move, but a sharp pain in her side had her crying out. He shouted something at her, and then he was throwing his door open and pulling out a gun from inside his jacket. He fired off two rounds, and the sound of it finally dragged Rey out of her stupor. Adrenaline shot through her, and she fumbled with the door, spilling out onto the grass.

“Run! Make for the forest!”

Rey scrambled to her feet, arms over her head as the man kept shooting. She could hear the screech of tires and the slamming of car doors, but she dared not turn back. Her side was screaming, and her browbone ached where she’d hit her head against the roof of the car, but her terror pushed through the pain. She pumped her legs, making for the forest.

Someone cried out behind her, and she threw a glance over her shoulder to watch the Knight of Ren fall to the grass, a bullet in his throat. Beyond, the car that had hit them sat in the middle of the road, two men standing beside it. But the other car, the one that had followed them from Manchester, had come off the road and was now driving through the fields.

It was coming straight at her.

The rain was pouring now, turning the fields into a muddy marsh. Rey slipped, barely catching herself on her hands before she faceplanted into the dirt. She struggled back to her feet, one of her oxfords coming loose in the mud. It slowed her down enough to bring the car within yards of her. She skidded to a halt as it closed in, shutting off her path to the forest. Thunder cracked in the distance.

The car came to a stop a few yards ahead, and the man behind the wheel stepped out.

Rey sunk to her knees, a sob ripping from her chest.

He was short, lean, and all together average looking. His clothes were simple and a bit worn, streaks of coal dust smeared across the front of his pants. He had reddish brown hair beneath a weathered newsboy cap, and a prominent scar ran down his stubbled cheek from temple to chin. His steps were slow, leisurely even, as he approached.

Jimmy McCavern stopped a few paces away, folding his hands casually in front of himself. The smile he gave Rey was rueful.

“Rey Kenobi,” He chirped, yelling over the rain, “Been a while, lass!”

“No…” She cried, her shoulders shaking. The rain made the cut as her brow bleed into her eyes, filling her vision with red. Jimmy’s smile widened, and he opened his arms as if to welcome her.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, wee cailín. We all have. Especially Unkar!”

She fell to her hands, the sobs uncontrollable now. So close…she’d be _so close_.

Jimmy brought his hands together with a gleeful clap.

“He’ll be so happy to have you home, Rey. He has so _missed_ his bonnie bride.”

*****

A day passed before word of the kidnapping reached Birmingham. When the car never came, they’d sent out a search party. They found the wreck that night beside the road, the bodies of their men waterlogged from the rain. The car was irrecoverable, and they were forced to set the whole mess ablaze the next morning, once the downpour had stopped.

Finn agreed to be the one to tell him. With Armie recovering in the hospital and most of the Knights patrolling the streets, he found only Maz and Rose at the offices when they came back just after sunrise.

“Inside,” Maz nodded at Ben’s office door, her voice low and tight, “He’s been in there all night.”

Finn nodded, wringing his cap between his hands.

“Right, well…” There was no way to finish the sentence. Maz gave him a wane, sympathetic smile, and Rose bit her knuckle.

Taking a breath to steel himself, Finn turned to the door. He hesitated for the briefest moment, his throat thick enough to make his next breath shallow, then gave a single sharp knock on the glass.

“Ben?”

The door swung open then, and Finn swallowed.

“Tell me.”

It took every ounce of gumption Finn had to hold Ben’s gaze as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the black velvet ribbon. They’d found it near the car, fluttering where it clung to the frayed wire of a broken fence. He held it out for Ben.

At first, he just stood there, staring at the strip of cloth. Slowly, he grabbed the ribbon from Finn’s hand, pulling it between his fingers.

“We found her bags, too, in the back of the car. And…a shoe. Stuck in the mud a few yards away. We think she was heading for the woods.”

“But she didn’t make it,” Ben muttered low, “Did she?”

Finn gritted his teeth and gave a reluctant shake of the head.

A moment of tense silence passed as Ben stood there, his thumbs stroking the velvet ribbon. And then he was wringing it slowly, and Finn noticed that his shoulders had begun to swell…and shake.

“Who would – _ahem –_ ” Finn pressed his fist to his throat, “Who would do this?”

Ben said nothing at first, just kept standing there, glaring down at the ribbon he twisted in his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low the word came out as a growl.

“Maz.”

She stepped around her desk, coming to Finn’s side.

“Yes?”

“Call Dameron, tell him our meeting will have to wait. Then phone Luke and have him load the boats, full rounds. Finn, tell the boys to meet in the Yard in an hour. Make sure they’re properly armed for the journey.”

“Where are we going?”

“Glasgow.”

With that, Ben slammed the door to his office. Finn, Maz, and Rose stood there, exchanging curious glances, as silence settled over the office.

A loud crash echoed behind the door, making them all jump. It sounded like a lamp breaking.

Another bang. More shattering glass. A heavy thud.

“Best gather the boys, Finn,” Maz sighed, pulling him away from the door. “And be quick about it.”

The sounds of destruction followed Finn out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would this even be a Star Wars fic if Ben didn't fly into a rage/destroy an entire room at least once?
> 
> Your thoughts below!


	10. Arsonist's Lullabye, in which the Knight embraces the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is just pouring out of me, can you tell I love the drama? We've still got another action-packed/angsty chapter after this, but I promise to make it worth your while!
> 
> Chapter song: Arsonist's Lullabye, by Hozier (again, it's like it was written for this fic)

**10**

**Arsonist's Lullabye, in which the Knight embraces the Wolf**

The first time Rey Kenobi laid eyes on Benjamin Solo, she was biting back tears for the ice cream that had fallen into the dirt. She was still holding the cone, glaring at the man who’d knocked into her. At her feet, the perfect scoop of frozen chocolate lay in a sad heap, melting into the dust.

Sound assaulted her from every angle as thousands of people milled about the narrow roadway, sweating under the sun, which had made a rare appearance overhead. After days of rain, it was a welcome guest at the Epsom Derby.

Rey grabbed Saoirse’s hand and gave a tug. The older girl turned and looked down at her, her lips twisting in annoyance.

“Oh, now you’ve done it.”

She took the cone from Rey’s hand and tossed it in a nearby trash bin. Rey’s eyes widen, but her mewl of protest cut off into a whine of pain when Saoirse pinched her arm.

“Quiet,” She huffed, “I’ll have none of your crying, now. Bad enough I’m saddled with you as is. First time I’m at the bloody Derby and it’s to babysit a toddler.”

Rey glared up at the young woman; she was eight, not two. But the brutal hold Saoirse had on her hand stayed her tongue. She turned back to the boy across the roadway.

In truth, he looked more man than boy. He stood tall and straight, his face young yet somehow severe. If she had to guess, he was sixteen or so, on the cusp of adulthood. Beside him, an imposing man with silver hair and the face of a rogue laughed openly at something his companion had said. The young man stared at the other two, looking bored.

“Heavens, Mary, look!” Saoirse breathed, elbowing the girl she’d been talking to this whole time, “It’s him!”

“Truly? Oh hell, I never did see a finer lad. He’s so _broody_!”

Rey frowned up at the girls, then looked back at the young man in question. She supposed he was rather handsome, a bit long though, like he hadn’t quite grown into himself. Still, there was a grace about him, a quiet strength and something…restless. His expression may have been impassive, but his eyes were hard, shifting slightly side to side. She thought she saw a muscle twitching in his jaw.

A gunshot in the distance signaled the start of the races, and people shuffled about to get a better look at the track. Again, Rey found herself jostled forward, nearly tripping over her own feet in an attempt to sidestep the ice cream in front of her. But she must have tugged Saoirse as she did, because the other girl yanked her arm angrily, making Rey cry out.

The young man’s head snapped up, his eyes finding her.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Mary squealed, “He’s looking at us!”

While the girls shifted in place, doing their best to look demure and alluring, Rey stared openly at the man. Now that he was facing them, she thought he might be older, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. His face was strong, his features untraditional yet striking, and his gaze was shockingly commanding as it grabbed hers and held.

Saoirse gave a cheeky wave, each finger curling slowly, and the man’s eyes finally released Rey’s. A frown tightened his brow, but he gave a polite nod that carried the slightest hint of irritation. Or maybe that was just Rey, seeing in him her own frustrations. A strange surge of jealousy made her squeeze Saoirse’s hand impatiently, earning a press of the girl’s nails into her tender skin. She hissed, and she could have sworn the man heard it. His gaze hardened on where Saoirse held her.

“I hear they just promoted him to his father’s offices. He’s the heir to Solo Company Limited.”

“He’s so young!” Saoirse sighed, “Christ, a man like that could make even this Traveller settled down.”

Rey rolled her eyes and turned away from the lot of them, searching out her grandfather. He was running bets today for Jinn, and he’d promised her she would get to see Jinn’s horse, Dangerous, run her race.

“Shit! He’s coming this way!”

Rey’s head whipped back and her eyes widened as the young man crossed the roadway, his destination clear.

“Ladies,” He greeted as he approached, and both girls erupted in a fit of giggles. He gave them a tight smile that could have also been a sneer before turning his gaze on Rey.

“Hello, little one.”

The smirk he aimed at her was genuine. She scowled up at him, not all too pleased by the endearment. Yes, she was small for her size, but her heels were hard and her teeth were sharp.

“I noticed you girls came with the Kenobi outfit. I’m looking for Obadiah, do you know where he is?”

“He went to check on Mr. Jinn’s horse,” Saoirse purred, twisting a lock of blonde hair between her fingers, “I could take you, if you’d like?”

“Take me!” Rey jumped in place, hope swelling in her chest, “He said I could see the horse! He said—”

“Hush!” Saoirse snarled, giving Rey’s arm another brutal tug. Patience abandoned her; Rey bared her teeth and raised her fist, but a gentle hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed softly. All three girls turned to the man, eyes wide.

“Mr. Solo, I am so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her—”

The man, Solo, dropped into a crouch before Rey, bringing them eye level. She felt her face flush with shame, but his eyes held hers and made looking away impossible. They were dark, and stormy, like an angry sea.

“What’s your name, little one?”

It took her a moment to find her voice, and when she spoke it came out hollow and high.

“Rey Kenobi, sir. My name is Rey.”

“Rey,” He murmured, and her name sounded heavier in his deep voice. She thought she’d never heard it spoken like that before. It sounded good. Powerful.

“And are you by any chance related to Obadiah Kenobi, Rey?”

“Yes, sir. He’s my grandfather.”

“I see. Shall we go together to find him?”

Rey looked up at Saoirse then, who was staring at them in open confusion. Ben turned back to her.

“I’ll take her to the stables.”

“That’s really not—”

“I insist,” He said, but it came out less a suggestion and more a demand. Dumbfounded, Rey felt Saoirse’s grip loosen on her, and she finally pulled her hand free. She looked at the man, raising her hand for him to take, but all he did was turn around. She followed after him.

He was much faster than she was, and Rey began to skip lightly to keep up with him. They wove through the dense crowd on the roadway, but she found that people seemed to unconsciously part for him as they passed. A few glances lingered, but no one was looking at her. All eyes fixed upon the young man.

They made a sudden right, cutting through a few tents and stepping down some steps to where the stables were. Horses milled about outside, their trainers walking them to keep their legs limber, and Rey unconsciously pressed closer to the man, her hand coming up to grip the hem of his coat. He paid her no mind, and she thought for a brief moment that he might have forgotten she was there. But then his hand came down on her shoulder as he ushered her around a corner and towards the end of the corral. Ahead sat the stables.

Rey spotted her grandfather before Mr. Solo did, and she took off, ignoring how he called after her. At the sound of Rey’s name, her grandfather turned where he was standing near a stable, his brows jumping from his forehead and a reluctant smile splitting his face. He bent low, his arms wide.

“A stór!” My treasure! “What are you doing back here?”

Rey leapt into his embrace, hugging him swift and tight before leaning back. She pointed behind her.

“Mr. Solo brought me! Is that the horse?”

Rey wriggled from her grandfather’s grasp, pressing closer to the stable gate to get a better look at Dangerous. Obadiah rose slowly, his eyes hard on the young man.

“Mr. Solo.”

“Mr. Kenobi.”

“Thank you for bringing me sweet granddaughter to me.”

“It was my pleasure, though you must know that’s not why I came.”

“Aye, I suppose not. But if you’ve come to ask what I think you has, the answer is still no.”

“Mr. Kenobi—”

“I knew your grandfather,” Obadiah interrupted, stepping forward, “’D’you know that? We worked together for many years, before.”

A pause. “Yes, I know.”

“Then forgive me if I’m not too keen on going into business with a Skywalker.”

“Not a Skywalker. A Solo.”

“Even better!” Obadiah laughed, but it was hard, angry. “The famous Smuggler of Small Heath, I hear he is _very_ reliable in business—”

“When it serves his interests.”

“Our mutual friend Landonis Calrissian would beg to differ.”

The man said nothing, folding his hands behind his back.

“See,” Obadiah lifted a finger, wagging it at the young man, “That’s the problem with all you Brummies. The coal’s gotten so deep under your nails you forget the feel of earth. You’re machines, in the business of extraction. You take, but you never pay a thought to what you might give in return. It’s like that with the lot of you English. Always searching for a new patch o’ land to stick your flag in.”

“How very Irish of you, Mr. Kenobi.”

“I am a Traveller, Mr. Solo. My people have been around a long time. We are children from the green pastures, stewards of the land. I am not like you—”

“Aren’t you?”

“Seanathair! Can I give Dangerous some oats?”

The two men turned to Rey then, the fire between them quieting. She stared up, expectant, her cheeks flushed with excitement and an odd buzzing in her veins. Obadiah smiled weakly.

“Not before the races, a stór. How’s about after?”

Rey beamed and nodded, her eyes drifting to the young Mr. Solo. He gave her a smirk, something humorous behind his gaze, and then looked back at Obadiah.

“Think about our offer, Mr. Kenobi. There may come a time when you’ve need of hands dusted in coal.”

With that, he gave Obadiah a light bow and walked out of the stables.

“Seanathair? Who was that man?”

Obadiah took Rey’s hand and gave it a light squeeze, still staring after the young man. A shadow crossed his face, but it was gone when he looked back down at her with a broad smile.

“Come, a stór. Let’s get you something to eat before Dangerous takes to track, shall we?”

Rey took her grandfather’s offered hand and let him lead her from the stables. As they walked back to the track, she found herself instinctively searching out the young Mr. Solo, but it was as if he’d vanished into the air.

Twelve years would pass before she saw him again, sitting behind that great desk of his in the heart of his kingdom. A Knight turned King. Much would change during that time, and yet when she heard her name on his lips again, she would recall the way it made something inside her stand up.

Stand taller.

*****

Light filtered through the window as dawn began to break on the horizon. Rey winced against the red glare of it behind her eyelids, her hand shifting on instinct to cover her eyes. But the cuffs stayed her motion, cutting into the raw skin of her wrists and making her wince.

She blinked away the fog of fitful sleep and looked down at herself. Her clothes were wrinkled and streaked with mud, one foot bare. Her head felt thick with something more than sleep; had they given her something? She couldn’t remember much after Jimmy had grabbed her and shoved her into the back seat. She thought someone might have covered her mouth with a cloth. Everything after that was black.

She looked around the small room. The floor, like the walls, was grey cement, dry and cold beneath her. Her wrists were chained to the metal frame of a small bed with legs bolted into the stone. It was the only piece of furniture in the space. She jiggled her cuffs lightly, testing their hold.

“Fuck,” She hissed, settling back against the bed with a frustrated sigh.

She looked out the window—small, carved into the stone, and covered with bars. She could make out grey sky warming with the dawn, but nothing else. She closed her eyes, listening for anything.

A crow squawking, the light flutter of wings.

A dull hum, punctuated occasionally by indiscernible staccatos.

Voices. She heard voices beyond the wall—

In the distance, the low blare of a train horn echoed through the air. Her eyes flashed open.

The junkyard. That’s what they called the train depots that Unkar Plutt and his Billy Boys ran in the north. If she had to guess, they’d taken her across the border. A gust of wind blew in through a hole in the corner of the windowpane, and she sniffed at the air.

Coal.

Unkar was known for running coal shipments from the Midlands to Glasgow and beyond, though the loads often carried more than black rock. Drugs, guns, _people_ —if it fetched a good price, Unkar moved it to whomever would pay him the highest rate. A few years back, her grandfather had made the mistake of going to Plutt with some shipments of Jinn’s whisky. They’d been looking for a way to bypass the canals, which were run almost exclusively by Solo Company Limited. Unkar resisted the deal at first—even the Billy Boys steered clear of the Knights of Ren. In a gesture of good faith, Obadiah invited the Lord of the Junk Yards to a bonfire, an honor among their kin. Rey attended the fire as was expected, and even volunteered to serve the Scotsman his first drink. His beady eyes had connected with hers, and the look she’d seen blooming there had raised the hair on the back of her neck.

“Ay, you did no’ tell me yer granddaughter was so fine a lass, Mr. Kenobi. I’ll take your man Jinn’s shipments through my yards at no cost but her hand in marriage.”

Her grandfather had laughed at first, until he realized Unkar was serious.

“Ah, feck off, Plutt. You can’t possibly think—”

“Aye, but I do think, Kenobi. I think I will make this sweet lass my bonnie bride. What say you, love? How’s I make you Lady of the Junkyard, eh? Queen of the Billy Boys—”

Her grandfather had pulled his pistol from his holster and cocked it, aiming across the fire at Unkar’s head.

“Touch her and you die, Plutt.”

Plutt had simply thrown his head back and laughed.

“Aye, Mr. Kenobi. You should know something about me.”

“And what’s that, you bastard?”

Plutt had leaned forward, bringing his ruddy face to the fire so that the flames danced in his eyes.

“I wasn’t askin’.”

It all happened very fast. Rey remembered the sound of shots ringing out in the night sky, the sudden explosion of voices and bullets and the braying of startled horses. Someone had grabbed her arm, yanking her back from the fire. She’d cried out and reached for her grandfather.

“Seanathair!”

“Go, a stór! Caleb, take her—”

A bullet zinged through the air then, and in the light of the fire Rey had watched in horror as it pierced her grandfather’s chest, stealing his breath. He’d froze, his brow furrowing slightly, and raised a shaky hand for her. She’d stretched to meet it, but it was too late.

He’d fallen to his knees.

Collapsed to his side.

_No,_ she’d sobbed, as Caleb grabbed her arm and dragged her into the shadows of the forests. Obadiah Kenobi stared after them with wide eyes, bleeding out beneath the stars of the Dublin night sky.

The sound of a lock sliding pulled Rey from her thoughts. She turned to watch the door to the room creak open, her heart in her throat. Jimmy McCavern walked inside, and behind him…

Unkar Plutt.

The man filled the doorway as he entered, his body broad yet soft beneath a simple wool suit. He was as she remembered, pink and doughy, his face pockmarked and his red whiskers sprinkled with white. He must have been upwards of fifty, and he walked with a slight limp that he offset with a cane. He smiled at her, but the cruel lines of his face turned it into a sneer. Her breathing shallowed, her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.

“Aye, my sweet bonnie Rey. We meet again at last.”

Two years she’d been running. Two years spent camping with kin in the countryside, fleeing on horseback each night that word came in they’d been spotted. She eventually made it to England, stowed away amongst the cargo of a passenger ship bound from Dublin Bay to Liverpool. From there, she’d hitched ride on a canal boat to Manchester, where for a year she nursed her broken heart in the company of her aunt and dearest friends. But then one night, while pouring beer at Patty’s, a man from Glasgow came in for a pint and recognized her accent. She’d been sent down the canal to Birmingham the next day with nothing but a small suitcase and a prayer that a man she’d met twelve years ago would honor a promise made during war times.

Unkar waddled over to the bed and sat down. Rey recoiled on instinct, holding her breath as he brushed a curl from her cheek and twirled it between his greasy fingers. He smelled of coal smoke and alcohol, his breath stale as he leaned forward and kissed the cut on her forehead.

“It pains me to see you in such a sorry state, lass. Why did you run from me? You do yourself harm to resist your husband.”

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, avoiding his gaze. Across the room, Jimmy McCavern leaned against the wall, hands in his pocket. He smiled at her, and she had to bite down on the urge to spit at him.

“Look at me,” Unkar growled, pinching her chin between his fingers, “When I’m talking to you, you look at me. Understand?”

She thought to resist, but the pressure of his thumb increased, and she reluctantly met his gaze.

“That’s a good girl.”

“You’ve been busy,” Unkar continued, releasing her chin and rising from the bed, “Making friends up and down the Isle, I hear. Very good friends in Birmingham, if my informants are to be believed. Knight of Ren, youse taken up with, have ye? Workin’ for none other than the Black Knight himself.”

Unkar turned around, smiling down at her. But the look in his eyes was murderous.

“There will be no more o’ that, now.”

She could no longer keep the tears back. Unkar watched, seemingly mesmerized, as one fat drop rolled down her cheek, streaking the dirt on her face. He nodded softly, as if it pleased him.

“Jimmy, send in Sofia to see about cleaning her up. I’ve some business to settle before lunch, but then I think I’d like to take tea in me offices with my sweet bride. We’ve much to catch up on.”

Rey waited for them to leave before tucking her chin and letting the rest of the tears fall.

*****

The Knight sat by the window, running a rag over his knife. Beyond the thin curtains, he could see the rolling hills of Glasgow, black against the dusky horizon. The sun had set, and stars began to peak through the clouds of a fading storm. Outside his room, the clock in the hallway struck the hour.

A knock sounded at his door.

“Sir?” It was Joseph, one of his men.

“What is it.”

“Finn just got back from the station. Charlie’s agreed to take us onboard, says they is expecting a shipment of coal tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good. We leave at first light.”

“Right, sir.”

Joseph’s footsteps faded down the hall. The Knight resumed cleaning his knife.

A glass bottle of pills sat atop the dresser. The Knight stared at, thinking back on the words his father had shared so many years ago.

“Ben, some men…they have a wolf inside ‘em. It sleeps in the den of their hearts, and every now and then something wakes it.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, many things. Wolf’s a restless beast. Sometimes it likes to hunt for sport, feeds off the thrill of a good chase. Could be it smells a lady wolf on the wind, hears her howlin’ for him in the night…”

He’d frowned at that, earning a booming laugh from his father.

“Aye, you’ll find her call more potent than the finest liquor, you will. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

His father had turned fully to him then, their fishing poles abandoned on the bank of the river he’d brought them to. It was rare for his father to indulge the young Knight in something as simple as an afternoon fishing trip. He should have known there was more to it.

“Like I says, a wolf is a restless creature. Once it’s woken from a deep sleep, ’s quite hard to get it back in that den. Sometimes you need to let it run free, can’t keep it locked away forever, of course.

“But it’s hard to control a wolf,” he’d continued, “Easy for it to get away from you once you’ve let it loose. And when that happens? Well, nothing to do but wait for it to run itself ragged.”

The young Knight had wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think I’d want that.”

“Not always, no. But sometimes…” 

“Sometimes what?”

His father had rubbed his chin, staring out over the water.

“Sometimes life calls on us to abandon our manners and fancy words in favor of something more direct. You’ll find this world can be rather unkind, boy. Luck won’t always favor your cause, and when the time comes for you to stare down the devil, it helps to have a wolf at your side.”

The young Knight had looked confused, not following. His father had clapped him on the shoulder, his other hand picking up a fishing pole.

“One day, you’ll understand. Now, show me how you cast that line.”

Setting the knife down, the Knight rose and went to the dresser, grabbing the bottle. He popped open the cap and poured one small pill into his hand. He stared at it for an interminable moment, thinking of all the pills he’d swallowed over the years, and the ones he hadn’t. He’d started taking them the summer after his sixteenth birthday. A woman had passed him on the street one afternoon, flipping her hair over her shoulder. His back had shot straight, the tendons in his neck straining beneath his skin and something like claws scouring down his throat. The wolf, he’d thought, turning to watch her walk away, utterly oblivious to what had just occurred. The wolf was stirring in him.

Years later, when he volunteered to fight in the War, he would leave the pills behind. The devil lay in those trenches, in those tunnels, and he’d needed the wolf to drag him through the muck and the blood, its claws often the only thing that kept him alive. It made him feral, made him invincible. But it also drove him mad, and even now, he still awoke with a shout sometimes at the memories of blood on his hands, of gaping mouths and sightless eyes staring up at him where they lay half-sunk in the mud.

The Knight put the pill back in the bottle and started for the adjoining bathroom. It was unbearably small, but at least it was private. This hotel was a dingy roadside stop, a seedy inn whose owner hadn’t batted a lash at the gang of razor-capped men who’d come in from the rain demanding lodging for the night. Normally, they would have vetted the place prior to booking their stay, to ensure everyone kept mum about their arrival. But they would be gone by morning, and a part of the Knight _hoped_ that word would spread. He wanted them to know he was coming.

He held the bottle up to the moonlight coming in from the window above the toilet, counting the pills inside. He was running low, despite not taking any in two days. He could feel the effects—the tension in his shoulder, his arms, that ache in the hollow of his chest like something was gnawing him from the inside. He was hot, itchy, agitated. His thoughts were a mess of anxious growls centered around one thing.

His father had been right: for all the violence and bloodshed that tempted the wolf, nothing could have prepared him for the force of her siren’s call. It was more than a howl; it was a melody that sang to the deepest part of him. It had the power to soothe him, yet at the same time it set his blood on fire. Before she came to town, he hadn’t taken the pills in years, fooling himself into thinking he’d finally mastered his feral nature. But one look at the flush of her cheeks and a taste of the air between them were all it took to rouse the beast from years of deep sleep. After he’d dismissed her, he’d gone to Dr. Hendry’s house and dragged the man down to the pharmacy to fill an order that very night.

The Knight lifted the lid of the toilet with the toe of his shoe and uncapped the bottle. Tipping it sideways, he let the pills fall into the bowl. He stared down at them a moment, thinking they looked like stones in a fishbowl.

Tugging the handle, he watched as they swirled in the bowl and flushed down the pipes, only stepping out of the bathroom once the water had settled. He walked back to the window and picked up the oil rag, this time taking his pistol from his holster.

He sat back down in the chair and began to clean the gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get *so bad* for Unkar.
> 
> Your thoughts below!


	11. Broken Boy Soldier, in which the Wolf saves the Traveller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF THIS IS SO DRAMATIC I LOVE IT
> 
> Chapter song: Broken Boy Soldier, by The Raconteurs

**11**

**Broken Boy Soldier, in which the Wolf saves the Traveller**

Rey couldn’t move. It wasn’t the cuffs, though those certainly didn’t help. It was her side. Her side was screaming.

A piece of glass, Sofia had said. It had stuck into her, likely when they’d crashed in the fields after being run off the road. Somewhere between then and her coming to the rail depot, someone had plucked it from the tender flesh between her ribs, and it had long scabbed over in a messy smear of dried blood. But the sharp pain of freshly pierced skin had morphed into a persistent ache, like the muscles between her ribs had been severed. She felt it with each breath she took, with every rattling inhale and shuddering exhale. Sofía had cleaned it, smeared it with some kind of ointment, and that had helped.

But then Unkar’s fingers had found it.

It was when he’d pulled out a seat for her at the table in his office—a dingy storeroom in the back of a warehouse at the edge of the depot. Moving to sit down, she’d winced at the tightness, the slight burn of flexing her stomach to lower herself, and he’d frowned.

“Hurt, are ye?”

She’d shaken her head, but then his hand was grabbing at her side, the pinch sudden and excruciating. She buckled, curling in on herself, and it set something alight in his eyes.

“Oh, lass,” He’d pouted with fake sympathy, but his fingers found the spot again and pressed. It made her vision go white, her mouth opening on a silent scream.

“This pain,” He’d cooed, pressing harder, “That’s how it felt when you left me, and I lost that sweet smell o’ yers on the wind. This,” _Press_ , “Is how you hurt me when you deny me.”

He’d released her swiftly, but the damage was done. She could feel her skin throbbing, swelling to the point it wouldn’t even bleed. Spots danced behind her eyes as she’d watched him settled down at the table, across from her. He’d lifted his tea and sipped, utterly at ease. Utterly unfazed by her tears and strangled breaths.

They sat in silence for some time, Plutt sipping his tea and Rey choking on air. He remarked on the weather—“rain’s comin’, I think”—and his businesses—“just got a shipment of opium crystals come through, all the way from London”—but mostly they just sat there. He seemed to relish her pain, her quiet agony. A few men came and went, reporting on the trains that passed through or a payment that had just been wired. After an hour, he sighed and pushed up from the table, shuffling over to her. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the column of his cane as it came down close to her foot.

“I’ve a meeting this evening with some associates about a new shipment. I don’t expect it’ll wrap up until the wee hours, I’m afraid. You’ll stay in your room for the night, but tomorrow...”

He’d not finished the sentence. His hand had come up to brush her cheek, and she’d gritted her teeth in an effort not to scream. She could smell it on him, the stench of rank lust. He’d traced the shell of her ear, the curve of her brow, the corner of her lips. He seemed to like her fear, if the spike in his terrible scent was any indication. Every shiver made him hum, made him lick his lips lightly. Rey’d closed her eyes and tried to imagine the pastures of Dublin, tried to tuck herself into those green fields and fall away.

Unkar had called out for someone named Robert, and then Rey was led from the office and back to the cell-like room in which she’d first found herself. Wordlessly, the man had brought her back to the small bed and cuffed her again, this time to the headboard. She would be able to lay down now, but only on her injured side.

Dusk turned to midnight. Midnight turned to dawn. There she lay, her breaths shallow with pain, as she waited for the turn of the knob. It was only a matter of time before Unkar came for her again.

Only a matter of time before he showed her exactly how he meant to finish that sentence.

****

Rays of morning light pierced the slats of the train car walls. The wheels churned beneath them, a steady drone of shifting metal. Every once and a while, the horn would sound as they barreled through the hills of the Glasgow countryside. The men sat huddled together in the shadows of the car, shifting restlessly atop bags of coal. Some picked absently at their nails with the tips of their knives. Others counted the bullets in their guns and the ammo strapped to their chests. One man was staring at Ben, or rather, at the bar in his hands. He leaned towards Finn with a frown.

“Is that a pipe?” He whispered.

Finn looked up, his eyes shifting from the man to Ben and back.

“What’s it look like?”

“But…why?”

“Why not?” Finn grumbled, resuming his count of the bullets in his case.

Ben said nothing, his eyes focused on the strips of countryside visible through the slats. His hands gripped the pipe, remembering. It was something his father had taught him.

“Guns are fine pieces of machinery, sure, but they can become a crutch if you let ‘em. Says you run out o’ bullets, then what? Every man needs to know how to fight with his hands, to make a weapon out of whatever is at his disposal. Now me? I likes a good club, see. Hard swing will take a man down as fast as any bullet, and you never run out of swings. Here, take this pipe. Feel it in your hands. Feels good, right? Now, hit that oil drum as hard as you can…very good. Harder. Good, again—put a dent in ‘er, son…yes, that’s it.”

A light screeching sound rang out around them, and the train started to slow. Finn began whispering orders to the men, getting them ready to make the jump as soon as the train stopped. Ben closed his eyes, letting everything else fall away as he sank down

down

down

down

down to where the wolf lay.

****

Rey startled at the sound of the lock sliding. She instinctively turned to the door, wincing at the throbbing in her side. Her stomach sank as it opened; it was McCavern.

“Rise and shine, cailín. Your husband is expecting ye.”

McCavern led her out of the room and onto the open floor of the warehouse. She cast a look about, taking in loading docks and loose machinery. Boxes of cargo in unmarked crates stacked high and created natural hallways through which Jimmy led her as they made for the back of the building. Reaching the storeroom, he gave a knock on the glass pane of the door. A muted voice bade them to enter.

“Ah, wife,” Plutt smirked, standing up from his desk, “I trust you slept well.”

Rey froze as he came before her and took her face in his hands. And then he was kissing her, McCavern’s hand still holding her upper arm in a vice grip.

“Lovely,” Plutt sighed, pulling back, “You taste as good as you smell.”

McCavern’s grip on her fell away, and she heard the click of the door closing behind her. Plutt smiled, showing yellowed teeth with a gold-capped canine, one hand sliding from her cheek to wrap around her neck. He gave a light squeeze, his eyes taking in the way it made her shiver, grinning wider at the feel of her throat bobbing beneath his palm. Her cuffed wrists hung limp between them as he pressed closer, her fingers inadvertently brushing against him.

He was hard.

****

When the train finally rolled to a stop, the men were already on their toes, fingers poised over their triggers. Beyond the car walls, voices came closer, workers shouting and laughing as they approached the car.

“—unload it quick, boys. We’ve got another train coming down the track.”

The door slid open, and the man before them stopped short, his face falling.

“Oh sh—”

Finn put a bullet through his head, jumping over his body before it hit the ground.

****

Rey struggled against his hold; she couldn’t help it. The move earned her a sudden backhand to the face, splitting her lip. She had no time to cry, no time to process the taste of blood in her mouth before Plutt spun her around and shoved her towards the desk. She reached out and caught herself on the edge, terror bubbling on the back of her tongue as he pushed against her. He leaned down and sniffed at her neck, grunting softly in a way that made her stomach roll. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, which had begun to tunnel and dim. She was suddenly transported back to that hallway, with the stranger pressed against her as he fumbled with her skirts the way Plutt was now. But there was no one to save her this time.

_Ben!_ The voice inside cried out, _Ben…_

****

The boys cleared out the yard efficiently, not a single bullet wasted. A few men who’d just come out of the warehouses along the track ran back inside when they spotted them, no doubt warning the others. Ben stepped into the middle of the abandoned depot and looked around, the wolf sitting on his shoulders.

They both inhaled deeply, tasting the air. Searching for—

There.

She was there.

And she was—

Ben’s eyes snapped open, but all he could see was red. At his back, the wolf howled.

****

“Beautiful,” Plutt groaned, his hand dragging up the side of Rey’s leg, “You were made for this.”

The tears had begun to well, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that it would make things easier. She could survive this. She _would_ survive this. If she didn’t struggle, it would be over quickly. Right?

Except she couldn’t. The thought of Plutt’s hands on her, _inside_ her, set a fire under her that had her boiling over with hysteria. Her eyes shot wide, frantic, searching for _anything_ that might—

He bent her forward then, and she couldn’t hold back her sob. But something behind her flashed silver, and her eyes latched on to the butt of a gun sticking out of his pocket.

****

There was nothing but red.

Red blood spattering the wall as the pipe connected with someone’s face, shattering his jaw and snapping his head sideways.

Red-hot fury scorching his throat, like a dragon ready to raze the village.

Red fire burning in his veins, making him pant, making him _seethe._

****

“I’m gonna fuck you through the table, lass. I’m gonna break you in, show how a man takes a woman…”

Plutt fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and Rey shifted slightly, the gun in her sights. A strange calm settled over her as she slowly lowered her cuffed hands. She would have to be quick about it. Step on his insole perhaps, or maybe elbow him in the groin. Something to throw him off-balance long enough to grab, twist, point—

Something like gunshots echoed beyond the walls.

****

McCavern, he thought, as he rounded the corner and narrowly dodged the bullet that whizzed past his head.

“Mr. Solo! What a pleasant surprise.”

He pressed against the crate he was hiding behind, the wolf growling in his ear. Kill, it demanded. Tear his throat out—

McCavern was coming closer now, the sound of the gun cocking.

_They took her. They hurt her. We taste it, her pain._

_Kill the ones who took her._

_Kill the ones who hurt her._

_Kill them, all of them, do it now—_

He turned the corner of the crate, charging as the gun went off.

****

At the sound of more gunshots, Plutt froze. “What the fuck—”

Now, she thought.

Plutt eased off, turning slightly towards the door, and then the gun was there. She lunged for it.

“Oy! You little—”

Rey twisted out from under him, the gun in her hands. She turned, aiming for his head, but then his fist was driving into her side, into that poor tender spot between her ribs. Her breath left her in a shocked _whoosh_ and stars danced in her eyes. Plutt made a grab for the gun as Rey crumpled to the floor.

Time slowed in that moment, and she watched with startling clarity as the tip of the gun slipped from between his fingers, the rage plain on his face. For an instant, it was as if she was suspended in air, each second passing like a frame on a picture show when they slowed the tape down.

She lifted the gun and pulled the trigger as her back hit the ground.

****

The wolf let loose a triumphant howl as he stood over McCavern’s lifeless body, the pipe dripping blood. He had the urge to stick it through the man’s chest, to savor his kill, but at that moment a shot rang out, followed by the sound of a moan as a body hit the floor.

Not any moan.

_No._

****

“You stupid bitch!”

Plutt staggered back, cradling his shoulder as blood bloomed beneath his shirt. Rey held the gun with shaky hands, adrenaline numbing the pain in her side. She scrambled to stand, but her legs wouldn’t work properly, and the best she managed was to drag herself to the table and brace her body against one of the legs.

****

He could smell her.

Her fear.

Her pain.

_Her blood._

The wolf was right there, biting at his heels. Making him run. Making him sprint.

Kill, kill, kill.

Kill them _all_.

****

“You’re dead, girl,” Plutt snarled, stepping towards her, “I’ll fucking _slaughter_ you—”

The door flew open. Both of their heads snapped to the man behind it, and Rey’s eyes blew wide.

“…Ben?”

The first thing Rey noticed was that he looked… _different._ Bigger, somehow, his broad shoulders filling the entire threshold. And he was vibrating, his muscles jumping beneath his jacket and white dress shirt which was…covered in blood.

His eyes landed on hers, and she shivered. That was no man staring back at her. For a moment, he just stood there, those animal eyes taking her in with a singular, heart-stopping focus.

And then he turned to Plutt.

Rey didn’t see the pipe in his hand until it was flying through the air and cracking thunderously against Plutt’s face. Blood sprayed in a wide arc from the gash that opened up beneath the metal, a long line running from one temple to the other, crushing the man’s nose beneath it. The scream Plutt let out was blood-curdling, but Ben gave him no time to recover. He was on him instantly, the pipe coming down once, twice, three times in quick succession.

Rey cowered against the table and watched in awe and horror as Ben literally pulverized the Lord of the Junk Yards…with a rusty pipe.

By the fourth pass of the pipe, Plutt stopped fighting back. Rey was sure he was dead by the fifth. And yet Ben kept going, with no signs of slowing down. It was as if he were in a kind of trance, his eyes both focused and far away.

“Ben,” She whispered, her voice thick.

He kept hitting the dead man.

“Ben,” She whined, a little louder, and she thought he might have heard her by the way his shoulders bunched and his chin tilted. But still the pipe came down on the bloody mess that was once Unkar Plutt.

“ _Alpha,_ ” She sobbed softly, pressing her hands to her ears to block out the sounds of metal colliding with flesh and bone.

Ben’s head snapped up, the pipe halting mid-swing. He turned to her, his lips pulled back from his teeth. She could have sworn he growled, truly _growled._

“Please, stop.”

It took him a moment to process her words—or maybe he just really didn’t want to listen. Eventually, and with obvious reluctance, he lowered his arm and let the pipe clatter to the ground.

Rey had begun to shake, but the terror she’d first felt when he’d come in had dissipated. In its place, something like desperation had welled up from that deep, dark part of her. Without thought, she opened her shaky arms and reached for him.

He was on her immediately, gathering her in his arms and crushing her to his chest. The relief was instant, and so acute that she sobbed openly, curling into him and burying her face in her hands. She didn’t care that he was covered in blood. She didn’t care that he had turned a grown man into a pile of meat lying in a heap in the far corner of the room.

_Alpha came. Alpha saved you again._

He stood, pulling her up with him with surprising care, as if he didn’t want any part of her to slip away from him. In the absence of fear, her body came back to her, and Rey cried softly as his arm wound around her waist and unwittingly pressed into her injured side. He tensed, sniffing at her as if he could _smell_ it, and there was that growl again, rumbling out of his chest.

“It’s okay,” She whispered, “I’m fine, really—”

“Oy, Ben! Have you found her—”

Rey lurched, knocking Ben’s arm down just in time. The bullet he’d aimed at the door lodged into the wall beside it, missing Finn’s face by inches.

Everyone froze.

Rey looked up at Ben. His jaw was so tight it appeared soldered shut, his breath bursting out through his nose in sharp pants. She could see a storm raging in his eyes as the man battled with the beast, no clear winner in sight. Her first reaction was to ask him what the hell he was thinking, shooting at one of his own men. But something about his face…

She wasn’t sure he could actually _think_ right then.

Her hands moved without thought. He jumped slightly as they slid up his chest and settled on either side of his neck. Slowly, _so softly,_ her fingers pressed into the tender skin beneath his ears, just behind his jaw. She began to rub.

The effect was immediate. His eyelids drooped, and the persistent growl rumbling from deep within his chest changed its tenor, turning into something akin to a purr. His arms tightened infinitesimally around her, careful not to press into her wounded ribs. He tucked his chin to his chest as one of her hands slid higher, her fingers running through the hair at the back of his neck.

“Jesus, Ben. What the hell happened—”

Finn took a step forward, and Ben’s head snapped back up, the purr a growl once more. Rey pressed her fingers firmly against his neck, shooting a look over her shoulder at Finn.

“Finn, you…you should probably go.”

“Rey—”

“I’m fine. Plutt’s dead.”

“I can see that,” He muttered wryly, casting the man a glance, “McCavern, too. I don’t…I don’t think he left anyone alive.”

Ben was still growling, his agitation intensifying with every second that Finn stood in the room. Rey pulled his head down, until it was resting atop hers, and gave him her wrist on instinct. Ben took it immediately, bringing it to his lips and inhaling.

“Go on, gather the others. See about getting us out of here, yeah? Won’t be long before word gets to the rest of Plutt’s men—”

Ben snarled audibly, his lips curling against her skin. Rey pressed closer, twisting his hair between her fingers and soothing him with a low _shhh._ Finn stared at them in open confusion, but whatever he saw in Rey’s eyes finally made him nod.

“Yeah, right. Come out when you’re…when you’re ready.”

She just nodded, her eyes already drifting back to Ben. He was staring at her…not like a predator, but with such extraordinary attention it was almost like—

_He looks at you like there’s nothing else to look at._

“Hi, Ben.”

She watched as her whispered words washed over him, making his eyes slide shut as he pressed his forehead firmly to hers. Her own eyes closed as well, something akin to euphoria settling over her. Settling over them.

He still couldn’t seem to talk properly, but she felt his relief in her bones. It was _her_ relief, a single silver current running between them, wrapping around them and pulling them closer. He folded her in his arms, dragging his nose across her cheek, her jaw, down her throat to inhale deeply from her neck. Her hands were restless, sliding all over him, following a path they’d known for millennia.

And it worked. Slowly, Ben’s breathing evened out, his muscles relaxing beneath her touch. Eventually, he’d collected himself enough to pull away from her, and she smiled to see the man staring back her, not the beast.

Her hand slid down his arm, and that’s when she felt it. The blood, seeping through his coat. Panic flooded her as she pulled back her fingers now streaked in red. She stared at the bullet hole in his coat.

“You’re hurt.”

“So are you.” The beast’s eyes flashed behind his own.

“You were shot, Ben,” She said, ignoring the anger swelling in him, “Your arm, it’s bleeding—”

“And you smell like him. Rey, tell me…” His throat bobbed, his voice like gravel, “Please, tell me he _didn’t—_ ”

She shook her head hard. “No. He didn’t. I–I shot him. Just before you came in.”

“Good girl.” He sounded proud, but it was laced with something lethal. His eyes shifted back to Plutt’s body and she could see the violence there, rising again to the surface. She framed his face in her hands, willing the beast to settle.

“Ben.”

She brought her lips down on his. It was brief, fleeting, but it served to pull him out of the murderous haze he’d begun to sink back into. He stared at her, his gaze slightly lost. The look tugged at something inside her, and she smiled sadly.

“Take me home, Ben. I want to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...does anyone else think the wolf sounds a bit like Gollum?
> 
> Your thoughts below!


	12. Hallelujah, in which Some Questions are answered, and Some Remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends.
> 
> So, remember when I said things would get plotty/angsty/dramatic for a while? And then they would get smutty and porny?
> 
> Well, it's still angsty and dramatic, but also...
> 
> Chapter song: Hallelujah, by Jeff Buckley (my favorite of all the covers!)

**12**

**Hallelujah, in which Some Questions are answered, and Some Remain**

Rey woke up, and her first thought was that she didn’t know where she was. She was tucked into what might have been the biggest bed she’d ever encountered—forget the bed from the penthouse suite at the Edwardian. She shifted beneath the heavy down blankets, her fingers dragging across the satin sheets as she shimmied up onto her elbow.

The room was dark, heavy velvet curtains the color of midnight drawn over three great floor-length windows lining the gilded walls. The floors were mahogany beneath fine Persian rugs, and above her head a chandelier threw light from the fire crackling in the hearth across the room, two chairs in front of it.

Ben sat in one of them.

The moment she’d begun to stir, his head snapped up, their eyes colliding across the space. He was partially undressed, wearing nothing but his pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. He held a glass of whisky in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

As he turned to face her more fully, the events of the day came flooding back to her…

He’d carried her from the warehouse, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of walking. The men had looked upon them with cautious curiosity, no doubt wondering if their stares would be taken the wrong way…and land them with a bullet in their heads. Even Finn was uncharacteristically quiet as he pulled down the hatch of a truck bed and Ben lifted Rey up, settling them down on sacks of what felt like mortar sand. They drove in silence through the countryside, the morning still early enough that the backroads were empty save for birds sailing on the wind and sheep grazing in the pastures. Ben had tucked her into his side, and she kept rubbing and pressing his neck, his chest, his wrists. It soothed them both, and in time she fell into an exhausted sleep, staring up at the clouds with her nose pressed to his collar.

She’d awoken when they finally stopped—who knows how long they’d been driving—and her eyes had widened at the manor in front of which they’d parked. It was enormous, old but obviously well-maintained. A maid was there at the door to greet them, an older woman with a warm face but eyes that had clearly seen many things, not all of them good.

“Mr. Solo, so good to see you again—oh, dear.”

“Morning, Francis,” His voice had rumbled against Rey’s ear as he scooped her back into his arms, “Is Alfred in?”

“Yes, sir, of course. Just got back from market.”

“Perfect. Have him fix something warm, soup perhaps. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to draw Ms. Kenobi here a bath…”

Francis had run off quickly with a small curtsy. They’d stepped inside the manor, and Rey had looked about in bleary-eyed wonder at the opulence of the entry hall. The fine art and delicate tapestries hanging from the walls. The elegant furniture and expensive vases. Ben had led them down a corridor leading to a spiral staircase, and then they were going up, up, up to the second story.

“What is this place?” She’d mumbled groggily into his neck.

“Skywalker Manor.”

They’d come to a door at the end of the hallway, almost running into Francis as she’d stepped out.

“Oh! Apologies, sir. The bath is ready. Shall I bring Ms. Kenobi’s meal to your rooms?”

“Yes, thank you, Francis.”

The washroom they’d stepped into was all white, the titles on the floor and walls gleaming like crystal. The bath was large, steam rising from the water, and the muted light shining behind muslin curtains cast the room in a grey glow.

Rey had been a rag doll in Ben’s arms, letting him strip her of her soiled garments. She’d felt his rage when her mottled side came into view, but his touch was feather light as he’d brushed two fingers across the raised gash. Once she was fully naked, he’d gathered her back in his arms and slowly, _slowly_ lowered her into the warm water.

They hadn’t talked, in no small part because neither of them had the energy for it. Settled back against the porcelain tub, Rey had let Ben take a soapy sponge and pass it over her arms, her legs, her collar and chest and belly with exquisite care that left her half-asleep, the heat of the water making the fine hairs at her temples curl. He’d poured warm water over her head, washing her hair, those strong fingers rubbing up and down, massaging the aching muscles at the base of her skull and lower, down her neck and shoulders. And then he was rubbing at the same tender spot behind her jaw that she’d attended to, and the relief that swept through her made her eyes close and her body go lax. He’d had to support her with one arm to keep her from sinking beneath the water.

She must have fallen asleep in the bath, because she couldn’t remember getting into bed. Taking stock of herself, she found she wore nothing but a thin chemise beneath the heavy down covers, and someone—Ben, no doubt—had wrapped a bandage around her middle.

His voice pulled Rey from her thoughts.

“How are you feeling?”

Rey sat up, wincing slightly at the way it tugged her side, but the pain was surprisingly mild now. Ben set down his glass on the carpet and stood, but he didn’t come to her. Hi fists flexed restlessly at his sides.

“Better,” She croaked, her throat dry, “Can I…can I have some water, or—”

He crossed the room swiftly, grabbing a pitcher off the vanity on the far end and pouring her a tall glass.

“Thank you,” She murmured as he came to stand beside the bed, holding the water out for her. She drank it all, looking around as she gulped. Having finished the glass, she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

“This house is beautiful. I had no idea your family came from such wealth.”

Ben settled at the edge of the bed, just far enough away that it had her frowning.

“My grandfather was a lord. When he passed, the manor went to my mother, and when she passed…”

Rey’s brows shot up. “A lord? I…that is unexpected. Why have I never heard of this?”

“The House of Vader is old. It was already a dying lineage when my grandfather was born. He served the Crown in expanding the empire, but it came at substantial cost. He…my grandfather was not a good man. My grandmother, Padmé, left him when she learned of the crimes he committed in the East African colonies. Took Luke and my mother, Leia, to London. She remarried, a member of parliament by the name of Organa from the borough of Alderaan in East Birmingham. They moved to Small Heath, and that’s where my mother and father met.”

“What happened to your parents? You’ve never…” She blushed, hoping he did not take offense to her questions. There was a reason he never spoke of his family.

“My mother was sick as a child. Scarlet fever. The doctors think it weakened her heart. She died about ten years ago, when I was twenty.”

“Ben,” Rey whispered, her hand reaching for him but falling flat, “I’m so sorry…”

“My father,” Ben cleared his throat with a scowl, “He loved her very much. Don’t think he loved anything much, except my mother. When she died, something in him died, too.”

He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thin, sharp stream.

“We were moving a shipment of rum for Dameron down the Cut when the Italians jumped us on the water. It was during the war, the vendetta. You probably remember.”

She did.

“We were fighting on the deck, and the boat was tipping. There was a bridge up ahead. It was dark, I couldn’t see much, but I remember the shadow of a man standing on the bridge, gun pointed at us. I told him to get down, to jump the boat before it sank or the shot fired.”

Ben scratched the side of his nose with his thumb and blinked twice, sniffing.

“He…ah, just stood there. He looked at the man, and he looked at me. And…”

Rey leaned forward, her hand landing on his where it pressed into the mattress, holding him up. Ben frowned, tapping his cigarette so that the ashes sprinkled onto the floor.

“I took over the company after that, and we won the war. I found the man, later. A cousin of Changretta’s. He’s swimming in the Cut now.”

Slowly, Rey scooted forward until she was at his side. Her hands found the tight muscles of his back as she brought her arm around him and pressed her lips softly to his shoulder.

“He said something to me once, after she died.”

“What did he say?” She murmured against the fabric of his shirt, the flames of the fire throwing shadows across his face.

“He said it felt like he’d lost his sense of direction. Like he was walking, but the world was always tilting away from him. Could have been the liquor what made him dizzy, Christ knows he was drinking more than enough by then. But I could…see it, in his eyes. He had this faraway look. He didn’t really see things anymore, was always looking past what was in front of him, but whatever lay beyond was out of focus…”

He turned to her then, his chin tilting until their noses were a breath apart.

“I’m like him,” He continued, “He had an animal inside, too. And I never understood how – I thought I was dying. When you didn’t come back. I thought it would kill me, and all I could think was I couldn’t go without taking everyone with me. Everyone who’d hurt you—”

She kissed him. His hands came up to frame her face, to fix her to him. She could taste it on his lips. His need. His fear. His relief and his sorrow. His tongue tangled with hers, stealing her breath. One hand fell away; he set his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.

She pulled him down with her, until he was towering over her, hands braced on either side of her head. The covers lay between them, and she kicked them down, the skirt of her chemise riding up as she did. He settled between her legs, holding his weight but pressing against her just enough to make her shiver. She could feel the shape of him, large and hard, cradled against her soft center. Instinct had her rolling her hips, and he hissed against her open mouth.

“I’m sorry,” He breathed, “I am so sorry, little one—”

“Hush,” She soothed, her hands running up his back to slide her fingers into his hair. He smelled of smoke and tasted of whisky, but beneath it all was that deep spice that warmed her tongue and filled her lungs with heat. It had always been there, but it seemed stronger now, calling that primordial part of herself to the surface. It made her skin flush, and a distant part of her brain reminded her that days had gone by since she’d take her pill. She felt suddenly fevered and achy, trembling as his hand dragged up her side to palm a breast through the thin fabric. It chaffed her skin, it was too tight, off, off, she wanted it _gone_ —

He pulled the chemise up, his lips only leaving hers a moment as he tugged it over her head and threw it somewhere beside the bed.

His lips where everywhere, his hands following the path they laid out across her skin. It was like he was mapping it, memorizing each inch as she fumbled with his pants and used her heels to kick them down his legs, her palms curving over his ass to press him tighter. He shrugged his shirt off, and she stilled at the sight of the bandage wrapped around his arm, remembering the bullet wound.

“It’s fine,” He whispered, leaning down to take one of her nipples in his mouth. His own fingers found the edges of the cloth winding around her waist, and he rubbed it tenderly, his sadness palpable.

“It’s fine,” She parroted, tugging him up to kiss her again. She wanted his mouth, his breath. She wanted him to swallow her whole. She wanted to swallow him, too, take him into her as deeply as he would go.

She felt him nudging at her, the tip of his weeping cock resting at her entrance. She rolled her hips, catching the head so that he just barely slipped inside, and his breath gusted across her cheek, hot and urgent. She could feel the tension shooting through him, noted the way his arms shook slightly where he held himself above her. She pulled back so that they were staring at each other, and something passed between them that had tears brimming in her eyes. He looked down at her with heavy lids and parted lips, and she thought back to what he’d said.

_I never understood how – I thought I was dying…_

He slid in slow but steady, and her head pressed back into the pillow, her mouth falling open. He was massive, soft yet so hard, and hot. Everything was hot, melting her from the inside. She felt it, the way it spilled out of her, soaking them where they joined.

“Fook,” He grunted once he was fully seated inside of her, tilting his hips in a way that made her gasp and mewl, “You are…Christ, it’s never…”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down on hers. This kiss was harder, the desperation obvious and building. When he pulled out only to thrust back in, they both gasped. His name fell from her lips on a watery sigh.

“That’s it, love,” He soothed, his hand cupping her jaw, his thumb catching the tear tracking down her cheek, “I’ve got you.”

She squeezed around him on the next thrust, and he cursed into her hair.

Rey could tell that Ben was trying to take it slow, to draw out her pleasure and spread it thin, make it last. But there was a storm brewing inside of her, something bigger than even his will could temper. She began to buck up into him, her breaths coming in short pants punctuated by tight whines. His hand came down on her throat, grounding her, and when he swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, she took it between her teeth. His jaw bulged, and beneath the bandage on his arm a small red spot began to bloom. It should have worried her that his efforts were harming him, the wound clearly opening up as he held himself above her. But there was something…deeply satisfying about the reminder that he would bleed for her. That he’d been driven to take a bullet in his desperation to get to her. That the overwhelming need to be here, buried deep inside of her, made any pain he might be feeling secondary to fucking her into the mattress.

And he was, fucking her. The measured pace of his thrusts had begun to falter, urgency taking over, making him pump faster, harder. He was wet between her legs, sweat mingling with the slickness that kept pouring out of her. The sounds it made drove him wild, made him bare his teeth and hiss when she arched into him on a breathless moan, teetering on the edge. He tore his hand from her throat, his thumb from her mouth, to grip the headboard behind her for leverage. And then he was railing her, driving her up the bed as he took and gave and took some more.

All she could do was hold on. Her nails scoured down his back, and she had the urge to rear up and sink her teeth into his neck, but he was too far away, curling over her as he pounded into her. Her eyes were transfixed on the bulge of his bicep where he gripped the bed. She followed the line of his arm across his chest, the tight muscles twitching with his short breaths. Her eyes kept going, taking in the grooves of his abdominal muscles, the way they tightened and flexed with each thrust. Her leg slid up his side, and his other arm was there, hooking behind her knee and pressing forward to open her up wider for him, to make her take him even deeper. The angle stole her breath, her stomach quivering, curling in as everything inside drew tight, tight tight—

Her orgasm blindsided her, knocking into her with such force she lost her breath. She could feel the scream stuck in her throat, could feel the tears track down her cheeks as she slammed her eyes shut and let the wave crest, crash, and drag her under. Above her, Ben shook with the effort to keep control as he wrung every drop of ecstasy from her, until Rey was nothing but a wet, sobbing mess beneath him.

He pulled out suddenly, rearing up to sit back on his heels. She opened her eyes and blinked against the tears, staring at him in a daze as his hand wrapped around that impossibly thick cock. It looked almost painful, red and swollen in his grasp, and he jacked it with a fast, brutal grip. She wrapped a single tingling leg around his waist and flexed, pulling herself down until her ass pressed against the tops of his thighs and she could feel his knuckles brushing her center with every downward stroke. She whimpered, pushing her own thumb between her lips because she had the uncontrollable urge to suck on something, but she was too tired to lean forward and take him in her mouth. His eyes narrowed at the move, the look behind them making her moan again.

“Fookin’ hell, I can’t—”

He threw his head back and shouted at the ceiling as thick ropes of cum lashed across her stomach, and she could _feel_ the heat of them. Her inner muscles quivered, and the fingers of her free hand came down to run through it, spreading it into her skin. Ben’s chin tucked to his chest, and he growled with satisfaction as she drew her fingers up, up, up to press and rub his seed into the aching spot below her ear.

When her fingers dipped for more, his were there, too, gathering the pearly wetness. She let her hand fall away as he took over her ministrations, whimpering in delight at the pleasure of his fingertips working his cum into her neck. Neither of them said a word; they both understood. Whatever of Plutt’s touch that lingered would drown beneath Ben’s scent, taking with it the pain he’d wrought upon them.

They drew in a collective breath, sighing in unison as calm settled between them. There were words on Rey’s tongue, on Ben’s, too. Words like need and love and always. But the hush enveloping them felt sacred somehow, and their hands said more than their mouths ever could. So instead, Ben settled down beside her, pulling her close without any regard for the mess on her belly or the slick coating both of them. 

For a while, they just laid there, until their breaths came in unison, their hearts beating in time within their chests that pressed together. Tears welled and leaked, but it wasn’t sadness that misted Rey’s eyes. It was just… _emotion._ Rey was full with it, full with everything and leaking all over. Ben seemed to understand, and the pressure of his arms around her felt like the only thing holding her together. But she wouldn’t have minded falling apart. Perhaps she already had, and this was what it felt like to come back together.

The fire crackled behind her, and she watched through heavy lids as the light painted the planes of his face. He was so bloody handsome, she thought, each mole and freckle expertly placed, each lock of black hair curled to perfection. She’d never been one to fawn over men, but then again, she’d never met a man like Benjamin Solo. She briefly wondered at the women he’d been with—what they were like, how they talked and looked and tasted. A tremor of uncertainty cramped her belly. She’d had sex before, but she was by no means a mistress of the bedchamber. Had she pleased him, done it the way he liked? Had she been too eager, too wrapped up in her own joy? Suddenly, his silence was worrisome. Maybe she’d misread him, seen satisfaction where there had only been determination, a sense of duty to—

“I’ve put you at risk. Everyone will know now what you mean to me. They’ll look to use it, use you.”

She frowned.

“I never wanted to hurt you before, when I pushed you away. And I tried, _fook me_ I tried to leave you alone—”

“I never wanted you to.”

“I tasted you on the air. When you stepped into my office, looking scared and yet so bloody brave, I wanted to throw you down on me desk and eat you alive. I still do.”

The voice inside her purred, and Rey pressed closer, her nose skimming his collarbone.

“There are things you don’t know, Rey. The danger isn’t over…”

“Plutt’s dead, Ben. He can’t—”

“I’m not talking about Plutt.”

She pulled back then, searching his face. His mask was falling back into place, but his eyes remained open, and for the first time she registered how deeply his fear ran. Fear for her.

“The attacks on Birmingham…” She breathed.

“For now, we’ve secured the city, but it wasn’t the Billy Boys who carried them out.”

“Then who?”

“I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions,” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “I was scheduled to meet with Dameron, to talk about the possibilities. He thinks he might have some information that will shed light on this whole bloody mess. Once I’m sure that the Glasgow situation is under control, we’ll have to go to London again, hear what he has to say…”

“We?” She said, seeking confirmation more than explanation. Ben nodded.

“I’m not letting you out of my sights again, little one. Never again.”

The anxiety that had begun to claw up her throat subsided then, and Rey buried back into his chest with a sigh.

Ben was right. The danger wasn’t over, far from it. Plutt was one of many problems that had only just been solved, and she heard the unspoken concern behind his words. Whoever was behind these attacks was not only stealthy but ambitious, extending their efforts from Manchester to London. It would take coordination between all the families, but they were still looking for a lead to point them in the right direction.

But the fire was warm at her back, Ben warmer at her front, and in that moment, Rey had everything she needed. Morning would come, and their problems would still be problems. For now, she would revel in the arms of the man she loved— _for she did love him_.

Boneless and satiated, her eyelids drooped until they closed, and the last thing she thought before she fell into a heavy sleep was…

…she felt a little hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts below!


	13. Bark Like a God, in which it Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this just slutty and fluffy but somehow it still ended up angsty what is the DEAL
> 
> Chapter song: Bark Like a God, by Sloppy Jane

**13**

**Bark Like a God, in which it Burns**

Hot, so hot—

Can’t breathe, it’s too hot in here—

Get them off, these blankets, get them off now—

It hurts, everything hurts, oh _God_ —

Ben, Ben, Ben, where’s Ben—

Rey cried out, gripping her aching womb.

_Alpha! Please, Alpha. It’s so hot, and it hurts so bad. Help me! So good, omega will be so, so good if you’d just…make it better, please—_

She was on the floor. She’d tried to stand, but she simply…couldn’t. She’d barely managed to pull the covers back and swing her legs over the edge, taking one step before she’d instantly crumpled, dragging the blanket down with her. It bunched around her waist now, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted it wrapped tighter, smothering her, or if she should drag it to the dying fire and _burn_ it.

Burn, burn, everything _burns._

Her head was on fire.

Her throat was on fire.

Her skin was _on fire._

It was coming from inside, the heat. It was emanating from the very center of her, spilling out between her legs and slicking down her thighs. She was naked still, and through the fevered haze clouding her vision she saw that her skin was red and blotchy, misted with a fine sheen of sweat.

Ben, Ben, Ben, where’s Ben—

She looked around, whimpering at the pain of simply turning her neck. The room was empty, the light of dawn piercing a thin gap between the curtains of one window. She tried again to stand—and instantly fell onto her stomach. She cried out weakly, but it wasn’t the wound in her side that hurt. It was her, all of her. Everything she was in that moment fucking _hurt._

She managed to lift herself onto her hands, the covers falling away. Cool air hit her skin, and though the relief was fleeting, it was enough that she raised one hand, one knee, and _slowly_ began to crawl to the window.

Her fingers were shaking so badly that it took her a few moments to grab the edge of the curtain and pull it open another inch. More light flooded the room—pale blue light of a coming dawn—and even _that_ hurt. She covered her eyes, peering through her fingers until she’d adjusted to the onslaught.

Outside, morning fog blanketed the fields surrounding the manor. A forest encircled the estate, and any other morning she would have loved to draw the curtains totally, drag one of the chairs to the window, and enjoy her morning tea before such a beautiful view.

But this was not a normal morning.

The estate was still, not a soul in sight. Not even a single sheep grazing in the fields. Where the _fuck was Ben—_

Another dizzying wave of heat pulsed through her, gushing between her legs and making her arms give out. She huffed as her shoulder connected with the windowpane, her forehead pressing to the cold glass. Oh, that was nice, actually. She turned her cheek, rolling her hot skin against that blessed coolness—

Somewhere downstairs, a door closed.

_Alpha, ALPHA! Up here, please, quick. Alpha, Alpha, Alpha—_

Rey heard voices, an indistinguishable conversation carrying up the stairs. One of the voices was deep, decidedly male, and the timber sank straight into her bones. It made her pulse, made her melt further, but there was also a relief to it. The panic shaking her limbs subsided momentarily, and she listened closely as footsteps came up the stairs, came down the hall, came closer until…

They stopped, just outside the door. She could see the toes of his shoes beneath the crack. She whined, and she thought she heard a curse.

The door flew open, and she whimpered. 

Ben was dressed in a black three-piece suit, his jacket draped over one arm. The vest her wore hugged him perfectly, from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist. His hair was freshly combed, his white shirt ironed and stiff with starch. Even the watch hanging from the front pocket of his vest looked newly shined. He was obviously ready to go somewhere—

_Noooooo! Alpha can’t leave!_

“Fookin’ hell, Rey—”

Another deep pulse cramped her womb, and it was as if Ben had been hit by a gust of wind. His head kicked back and he actually stumbled sideways, his hand shooting out to catch himself against the threshold of the door. His jacket fell to the floor.

“Help me,” Rey choked, her hand going to her throat, to the ache there, “Please, I can’t…I don’t know what’s happening—”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay—” Ben inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring and his eyes rolling shut, “ _Fook._ ”

He fumbled for the door, slamming it shut. Once it was closed, he dragged a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. He looked back at her, and Rey trembled.

His eyes were black. Actually black. This was the animal again, the beast that had taken a pipe to Unkar Plutt and almost put a bullet through Finn’s head. But where before she’d been afraid of that dark stare, this time…

Rey slid further down the wall, until she was all but prostrate on the floor. Her legs fell open, and Ben’s jaw bulged. His brow was pinched as if in pain.

“Ah, little one…”

He took three steps towards her, but then another wave pulsed through her, and it actually brought him to his knees. The sound that came from him then was inhuman.

Rey mewled as he crawled closer, her back arching in a way that spread her further, her stomach soft and fully exposed to him. She was supine, supplicant under his predatory stare. She could feel it _there,_ his eyes taking her in where she was swollen and hot and melting for him.

Each pulse had a visible effect on him, making his muscles twitch beneath that perfectly pressed suit. It struck her, in some distant part of her brain, the picture they painted in that moment. Ben, a beast in gentlemen’s clothes, and her: naked, writhing, a red mess of want and need, need, she needed—

His hands came down on her ankles, and the relief was instantaneous. He dragged those solid, strong palms up her calves, his touch the only thing that didn’t chafe her tender skin. Her fingers dug into the carpet as he came to her knees, fingers sliding behind to pull her down and spread her wider.

“Beautiful,” He murmured, more to himself, but the praise lit her up, and they both sighed when more slick rushed out, “I can taste it.”

_Yes, taste it! Taste, taste, taste…_

He hooked one leg over his shoulder, and Rey stuck four fingers in her mouth, just because. But he liked it—she could tell by the way his scent flared.

“Do you ache, little one?”

She moaned around her fingers.

“You are so fookin’ lovely like this. I can barely stand it…”

One of his hands ran up her thigh, stopping at the crease where thigh and hip met. He fitted the soft skin between thumb and forefinger into the curve, squeezing lightly so that the tips of his fingers pressed down on her lower belly just as his thumb swiped ever so lightly across her flared lips. She almost choked.

“That’s a good girl,” Ben crooned, making her moan again, “Hold still, I’ll make it better.”

His thumb was circling now, sliding back and forth, up and down in a loop that made her drool. Every muscle in her body was taught, trembling, but he had told her to stay still, and in that moment even the fire licking her from inside couldn’t make her resist his command.

It built fast, that tight coil of pleasure in her womb, and it surprised them both when she exploded, seemingly moments after his thumb first began to tease her. He pressed inside, massaging as she rode it out. Blood pounded behind her ears in time to the contractions of her inner walls, and Rey could have sworn Ben’s breathing had slowed to match it.

Moments after coming down, she could feel herself quickening again. With something like horror, she realized that the orgasm hadn’t tempered the fire burning in her. On the contrary, Ben’s touch had only seemed to fan the flames. Her fingers slipped from her mouth on a keening cry as her entire lower half spasmed with need.

Empty, empty, empty, she was so painfully empty—

Ben shot up to his knees and began to fumble with the buttons of his vest.

“Steady, love. I’m going, I’m going—”

Her legs were wrapping around him, she realized, jerking him closer. He teetered slightly, one hand coming down to stay her movements while the other tore the vest from his shoulders. She scratched at her neck and tugged on her hair, her cries getting more insistent, more anxious. Bloody hell, she would go mad if he didn’t hurry up and touch her, fuck her, something!

Ben unbuttoned the front of his pants, and the sight of his cock falling heavily into his hand made her sob. It was so big, hard and flushed and thicker than she’d ever seen it. She reached for it, but he titled it up and out of her reach, making her huff.

“Not yet, little one. I can’t…I won’t last—”

She stomped her foot on the floor. She actually stomped it.

“Enough,” He snapped, something hardening in those black eyes, “I’ll have none of that. You will be patient, omega.”

Rey whined, biting her knuckles in open frustration. He tugged the tie from his neck violently, holding it over her to skim the tip across her hard nipples.

“Shall I tie those naughty hands with this? Hm? Or can I trust you to keep still?”

She shivered as he swung the tie softly against her skin. She knew that, despite her protests, she would obey him if he commanded it. But there was something undeniably tantalizing about the thought of him restraining her. She didn’t want to _choose_ to obey. She wanted to be _made_ to do it, wanted him to take the burden of thought from her so she could just feel—

She pressed her trembling wrists together and held them out, the offer clear. And oh, he liked that.

“Wicked thing,” He grinned, wrapping her wrists with the tie and giving a sharp tug, “You’ll ruin me like this.”

She wanted to protest, tell him that it was _she_ who was ruined, but words were actually impossible. She babbled nonsensically as he brought her bound wrists above her head, pinning them to the carpet while his other hand stroked his cock, angling it to nudge at her center.

He drove in with a single, brutal thrust, and she was already coming again.

“ _Fook_!” He shouted as she cried out, her voice raw. She pulsed around him, her entire body singing at the sheer relief of it.

This.

This was what she needed.

Ben’s forehead pressed to hers as he held on, gritting his teeth against the rhythmic pull of her pussy as it milked him. Rey writhed beneath him, undulating up and down with each wave that crested, until she worried it might never _stop._ And yet eventually the tide mellowed, and only after she sighed heavily and turned her face away did he begin a slow, steady thrust.

In, and out.

In…

Out…

In…

With each slide, she felt another storm brewing. At this point, she could feel the wetness staining the carpet, and she thought about asking him to take her to the bed before she made any more of a mess. But then the head of his cock nudged something deep inside of her, and her legs wrapped around him reflexively, so that he couldn’t pull out, could only go deeper—

“Christ,” He bit her neck, swiveling his hips in a way that had her seeing stars, “If you keep doing that—”

He seemed to grow larger inside of her, and she felt the base of him swelling to a point where she wondered if she even needed to hold him in. Seemed to her that if he kept growing like that, in time he wouldn’t be able to pull out. The thought filled her with unbridled joy, and she arched up into him to rub her tits across the fabric of his shirt with a giddy moan.

Suddenly, he was pulling all the way out, his hands grabbing her hips to flip her roughly onto her stomach. She fussed at first, wild panic seizing her at the thought of no longer being filled, but then he was tilting her hips up until she was on her knees, her chest to the floor with her arms stretched out in front of her.

The snarl he gave as he thrust back in seemed torn from his chest, and all the breath in her lungs left her as he hit the very top of her— _right there._

“Oh,” Was all she could manage as he began a heart-stopping pace. Each brutal thrust pushed her against the carpet, and under normal circumstances she might have grimaced at the way it chaffed her chest and cheek. As it were, the course texture of the wool was just the right amount of roughness against her nipples, lending another edge of pleasure-pain to the overwhelming experience of being taken the way she needed.

This was more than fucking. This was nirvana.

Ben’s grip was brutal, sure to leave bruises, and that only pleased her more. She wanted him to mark her all over, she wanted him to cover her in his scent, so that no one would mistake her for what she was: his. His to touch, to kiss, to ply with fingers and tongue and cock, to pump full with his cum until it spilled out of her, to fill her womb with—

He started coming at the same time that he swelled to a point of no return. On a final, teeth-chattering thrust, he locked himself inside of her as he bathed her in seed. It kept going, hot and smooth, even as he curled over her to bite down on the tender skin between her neck and shoulder. It was that bite that sent her hurtling over the edge, and she would have collapsed to the floor if she weren’t already pressed down on it.

The moment stretched interminably, taking them to a place beyond, somewhere black and warm and tucked amongst the stars—

A light knock rang out.

They were both panting—Ben into her neck, Rey against the carpet—when Francis’s voice sounded on the other side of the door.

“Mr. Solo, the car is out front.”

The haze of her lust had finally cleared some, and Rey managed to lift her head slightly to look back at the door.

“Ben—”

He growled, releasing her neck but keeping his lips hovering over her skin. He gave the spot a languid lick.

“Francis,” His voice was sandpaper, “Tell Walter to park the car in the garage, then call Maz. We’ll be several more nights here.”

His hands smoothed down her back, his touch tender now. Rey sighed, nuzzling his wrist when he brushed her hair from her eyes. His smell was different, stronger than ever and yet the spice had mellowed to something warm like cinnamon. She actually purred.

“…Yes, of course, Mr. Solo.”

Francis’s steps faded down the hall. Carefully, Ben reached over her head to untie her wrists before shifting them to lay on their sides. He was still locked within her, hard as ever, and the movement caused her to bear down on him, making them both moan. His arms came around her, and for the first time since she’d awoken in a fevered panic, Rey could finally relax.

“It’s not over,” Ben murmured into her hair. “They say it can go on for days…”

She’d heard the stories, and yet no one had ever prepared her for this. She pressed back against his chest and lifted one of his wrists to her nose, inhaling deeply. It brought more of the calm over her, but even now she could still taste some of that fervent desire simmering on the back of her tongue. She knew it would grow again, knew the fire would return soon.

She also knew what it meant to have him here, filling her over and over, pumping her full so that there was no way she wouldn’t walk out of this room without life growing inside of her. It was scary and glorious and daunting and destined all at once. At twenty-one, she was nowhere ready nor fit to be a mother, and yet there was every chance that now, laying here with Ben buried to the hilt, she already was.

As if he could read her thoughts, Ben turned her face to his, his stare boring through her.

“I know someone. A doctor. We can take you to him after, get it sorted out.”

She nodded numbly, though the thought of what he was proposing made her stomach plummet. It wasn’t that she objected; she’d taken Kaydel to such a doctor, once. But the part of her behind this whole ordeal wailed in outrage, bringing tears to her eyes that had Ben frowning.

“Did I…that is, do you want…?”

She shook her head, unclear whether she was protesting his concern or resisting his offer. God, she was a mess, and still that little voice inside cried and cried, bemoaning the loss of something she wasn’t even sure she _had_ yet.

_Alpha doesn’t want omega, doesn’t want to see her round and full with his child. Doesn’t want her, doesn’t want her, doesn’t—_

“I’m sorry,” She whispered pitifully, not even sure of what she was apologizing for. No, that wasn’t true. She had plenty of things to apologize for, a possible pregnancy being just one of them. She knew full well that _none of this_ was what he’d wanted. They were meant to go back to Birmingham, to deal with all those problems still left unsolved, to answer all the questions that remained. There was no time for this…manic fucking, and _certainly_ no time to contemplate the possibility that he had just…that they were—

He was shaking his head, kissing the tears that had begun to spill and murmuring softly into her cheek.

“Hush. It’s not your fault, little one. It’s no one’s fault. This…it can’t be helped. It’s going to happen, always was.”

He held her close for what could have been minutes or hours, until he’d finally shrunk enough to slide out of her. She could feel the trail of cum he painted across her leg, and noted how hard he still was as he gathered her in his arms and stood. She cuddled into his chest as he walked her to the bed, laying her down with utmost care before pulling the blanket from the floor and spreading it over her.

Ben settled down beside her and ran a hand through his hair, looking both exhausted and deeply satisfied. His fingers found her neck again, tracing patterns into the skin. It helped to quell the anxious thoughts ringing in her ears, until she felt her lids droop and her breathing even out.

“Sleep, little one. You’re going to need it.”

When she awoke an hour later, the fire worse than ever, she would realize how right he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY for the sake of managing expectations
> 
> 1\. No baby (yet) and that means
> 
> 2\. More angst because my sadistic ass wants us all to suffer a little more before we get a fluff-tastic HEA.
> 
> Maybe *one day* I'll write something utterly silly with zero drama (or not, probably).
> 
> Things are shaping up for a 19 chap story with 1 chap epilogue. If you thought Unkar was intense...


	14. Proposition #1, in which a Name is Whispered on the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so much shorter chapter than usual, but I wanted to keep the intensity/intrigue high! I'm also trying to churn out a chap a day until the end, let's see if I can keep up the pace. 
> 
> We are coming into the second half of the plot line now and things are about to get *intense* I hope you're all down for more drama because I have gone off the deep end with this fic 🙃
> 
> Chapter song: Proposition #1, by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis (you HAVE to listen to this while you read, it's too perfect)

**14**

**Proposition #1, in which a Name is Whispered on the Wind**

Her heat lasted three days.

Three days they stayed in that room. Three days of fire, of agony. Three days in which the only thing that could take her pain away was Ben buried deep inside of her. Filling her. Covering her so completely in his scent that it became all she was. His scent on her skin. His scent on her tongue, down her throat and in her bones.

It was right, and it was wrong. It was wrong because it was _so right_ that Rey wondered how they would ever be able to stand near each other again without touching. There was a point, on day two, when Ben had her against the wall with her legs hooked over his forearms as he stirred himself in the slick and cum dripping out of her, where she thought for the briefest moment, “I never want to leave this room. I want him to just keep me here, naked, wet and waiting always.”

She’d been reduced to nothing but need for him, and it frankly scared her. Because despite all her wayward thoughts of a lifetime spent beneath sheets and pressed together, they would eventually have to return to the world outside. A world full of dangers, known and not. A world that cared little for the love they felt but could not say, for the home they were building in each other’s hearts with each stroke of their fingers and press of their lips.

On the fourth day, she awoke tired and achy, but that fire inside was finally out. Ben slept beside her, and for the first time she noticed how utterly _wrecked_ he looked. His hair was a mess of dark waves tangled atop his head. Even in sleep, he looked completely exhausted, soft bags under his eyes and a slackness to his jaw that only came from total burnout. She noted with a deep blush that his skin was raw, covered in bite marks and scratches and purple splotches where she’d sucked on it as she came.

She was similarly ruined.

He came to shortly after she did, as if he could sense her waking and his body was determined to see to her should she still be in need. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded as he stared up at her, and when his hand found her cheek and brushed at the skin there, she felt a phantom ache despite everything.

“Morning, little one.”

_I love you._

It was there on her tongue. She was surprised she hadn’t already said it. God knew she’d thought it enough, had chanted the words in her head as he’d taken her, as he’d shown her with tongue and teeth and cock how much he loved her, too. But her stomach chose that moment to growl obnoxiously, earning a smirk.

“Right,” He grunted as he shifted up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, “Let’s get something in that belly of yours.”

Something already was, she thought. She said nothing, merely nodding and stretching her arms above her head. Christ, but she was _sore._

They ate porridge and drank tea in companionable silence in the study adjoining the bedroom. Like everything else in the manor, the room was lavishly furnished and big enough to host the entire body of parliament for dinner. They sat at a great desk of ebony wood, a fire crackling beside them. Rey let her eyes scan the shelves of the bookcases behind the desk, searching for titles she might know.

Her wandering eyes landed on a picture hanging above the mantle of the fire. It was of a man and woman, posing in what appeared to be the sitting room downstairs. The woman sat on a velvet chaise in deepest green. It matched her eyes, Rey thought, and complimented the light brown of her skin. Her hair was dark like Ben’s, her face small and finely featured. She had a solemnity to her stare, but her smile was soft and almost cherub-like.

Behind her stood an imposing man with dark blue eyes and wavy brown hair. One hand lay on her shoulder, while the other tucked into his breast pocket, fingering the watch that hung there. Something about the hard set of his otherwise handsome features stuck with Rey.

Lost in the portrait, she startled when Ben’s hand came down on her knee.

“We need to get back to Birmingham tonight, but first I have to show you something.”

The drive through the country was beautiful. Ben informed her that Skywalker Manor sat in the high country, near the border between England and Scotland. His grandfather’s title had long since expired, but the manor was a historical legacy and the lands upon which it sat would remain in his family so long as there was someone to inherit the property. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Ben descended from nobility. Actually, she could—everything about him spoke of prestige, albeit with an edge. What _didn’t_ make sense was the fact that Luke Skywalker, that ornery stableman from the shipping yard, was actually the son of a Lord.

They eventually broke from the main causeway to drive down a narrow dirt road that brought them to…

“Is this a cemetery?” She asked, peering out the window at the gates leading to what appeared to be a graveyard.

“It is.”

He came around the side of the car and helped her out. Even now, after literal _days_ of mindless fucking, his touch made her shiver softly and wilt in that pleasant way. His fingers slid from her elbow to her hand, and when he laced them with hers, she felt something turn over in her chest and sigh.

“All the Skywalkers are buried here…”

They pushed through the rusty gates, and Rey’s eyes lingered on the dying blooms of a fading summer where they clung to the metal. The cemetery was rather large for one family, though that had much to do with the great monuments erected for each member. It was clear that, whatever had become of the House of Vader, it had once been quite distinguished. She had to wonder: how terrible were the crimes his grandfather had committed? Ben had spoken of colonies, which said plenty. But the Crown had been ruthless in expanding its empire overseas. For someone to fall from grace in a world where conquest begotten by bloodshed was considered mundane…it must have been quite terrible. 

“Here we are.”

He’d led them to the top of a small hill, and the grave before them stood out from the others in how much _smaller_ it was. While the rest of the cemetery was cluttered with marble tombs and great monoliths stretching heavenward, this grave was little more than a square slab of stone jutting from a patch of thin grass. On its front, a single name and a single phrase.

_Anakin Skywalker_

_Son, father, servant_

“Is this…” She turned back to Ben.

“Yes.”

Rey looked at the tombstone. Weather had worn the surface down some, smoothing its edges and the words carved into its face. Tiny flowers—black flowers, how odd—grew at the base, shivering in the light wind.

“What do you see, little one?”

Standing atop the little hill, she noted that the grave sat at the edge of the cemetery, and beyond the fields stretched out almost interminably. It was a lonely place, she thought. A lonely grave forever staring out on an empty pasture, tucked high up in the country where no one ever came. She could feel it—the emptiness. Could feel the restless wind moaning, weeping—

He stood not by the grave, but out beyond in that barren field. He was tall, like Ben, and dressed all in black. His trench coat billowed with the phantom wind, hanging from his broad shoulders like robes. He had a handsome face, she thought, and an intense stare his grandson had inherited.

The man from the portrait just stood there, looking back at her from across the pasture.

There was something…powerful about him. Powerful and dangerous, but also very sad. She could feel it. His sadness was a heavy weight in her chest, blackened with loss and regret and no small degree of anger. She thought that anger might have burned brighter once, might have consumed him in a fire of rage and hate and hurt. Now, it was just a bitterness on the back of her tongue, a stone in her stomach that pulled her down, made her want to get on her knees and heave until it came up and out. Awful, it was awful—

The man’s hand went into his coat, reaching for something. That’s when she saw the blood at his temple.

Rey frowned as he drew his hand back out. He held nothing, but his thumb and forefinger made the shape of a gun, and her eyes widened as he pressed his finger to his head and mimicked pulling the trigger.

_Bang!_ he mouthed, the smile that twisted his lips rueful.

“He killed himself,” She breathed.

“He did.”

“But…why?”

Ben came beside her now, his eyes scanning the field as if he might find the man. But she knew he couldn’t see his grandfather. His eyes passed right over the old Skywalker, lingering on the trees beyond.

“I was hoping you might be able to answer that question, little one.”

The man was still staring at her. His eyes briefly flickered to Ben, and she felt the sadness rising up in him—in her—until it threatened to smother them both. His hand fell from his temple, the blood running down his cheek and beneath his collar. Their eyes collided again, and she heard it.

A name, in her ears.

The sound of the bullet firing.

She could see it. The study they’d been in just that morning. Another man was there, standing at the hearth of the fire with something in his hands. Papers? A folder of papers. He was flipping through them, his leather gloves still on. He puffed on a cigar, frowning mildly. Humming in the back his throat.

She was laying on the floor, a pool of blood growing beneath her head. Her eyes fixed on the man’s shoes, expensive and perfectly polished. He shuffled to avoid the growing puddle.

The man tsked, looking down at her—at him, Ben’s grandfather, dying on the floor of his study.

_“What a shame. You’d done so well.”_

A name, a name, he was screaming a name in her ears.

The man with the cigar turned and threw the folder of papers into the fire.

Rey swallowed thickly as the vision cleared from her eyes, but the taste of sorrow remained. In the fields beyond, the man in black had fallen to his knees, his face in his hands as he wept. She turned to Ben then as the Skywalker lord faded on the wind.

“Who – ” She cleared her throat against the tears, “Who is Sheev Palpatine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts below!


	15. Innerbloom, in which a Tide is coming to Carry Them Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High-key impressed with myself for getting this chapter done today *pats own back*
> 
> ...but also definitely not gonna be able to post tomorrow hahaha that lasted literally five seconds. 
> 
> *TW* Mentions of abortion! (I am SO sorry for not stating this more explicitly, and I deeply regret those I’ve triggered in omitting this. It was a serious oversight on my part and has been added to the tags). Also, Palpatine is an anti-Semitic, racist, pro-colonial white supremacist of the most monumental proportions. British war crimes will be referenced. Be advised.
> 
> Chapter song: Innerbloom (cover), by Dustin Tebbutt and Lisa Mitchell

**15**

**Innerbloom, in which a Tide is coming to Carry Them Away**

“Thought I recognized the name.”

Maz set a large box atop the table with a resounding thud. She flipped open the top, revealing dozens of folders filed tightly inside. Her fingers moved light and quick through the files as she searched for—

“Here,” She pulled a folder out and handed it to Ben, “There’s your man. Sir Sheev Palpatine, 6th baronet.”

Ben took the folder and opened it, turning away to pace across the office.

“A member of parliament,” He murmured, reading the contents of Palpatine’s file with an increasingly deeper frown.

Maz gave a nod. “Ay, Smethwick.”

Ben kept reading, until something in the file pulled him up short. This time, when his eyes came up, they fell on Rey.

“It says he began his political career as an architect of colonial governments in the Cape and Natal.”

“You said your grandfather served the Crown’s interests in East Africa—”

“It has to be where they met. I wonder…”

He continued reading the file, a finger curled over his pursed lips. Rey caught Maz’s eye. The woman was regarding them unabashedly, her curiosity extending beyond the folder in Ben’s hand.

From the moment they’d walked through the door, everyone had been staring. Rose did her best to hide behind her betting books, but she was terribly lacking in stealth. Finn couldn’t meet Ben’s eyes still, but he smiled knowingly at Rey when she’d passed him in the hall. Armie glared at her with his one good eye, the other now covered by a patch, but there was a humor there, too, and her cheeks had flamed when he muttered, “Irish girl comes to town and takes the Knight for a ride. It’s all tits up these days.”

“Maz, get Dameron on the phone. I want a meeting with him tomorrow, London, eight o’clock.”

Maz gave a nod and stepped out of Ben’s office, heading for the phone. Rey turned back to him, but he didn’t meet her gaze, just kept reading the folder. His agitation was palpable, and she could see the gears turning in that clever mind, putting together pieces scattered across decades of buried secrets and family pain.

He’d been quiet for most of the drive back to Birmingham, ruminating over her vision. She’d wanted to ask him what he thought it meant, but he was far away from her, turning over old stones to expose the spiders and roaches underneath. Rey had stared out the window at the countryside flying by, but she couldn’t get the image of Anakin Skywalker out of her head. When she closed her eyes, she was back in that study, watching Palpatine’s fine shoes stepping around the puddle of blood staining the floor.

Ben walked to his desk, setting the folder down before taking a seat. Rey followed.

“Do you think he had something to do with your grandfather’s death?”

“I’m not sure. But whatever the connection was, Palpatine was bad company to keep.”

He picked the folder back up. “Says here he rose to prominence within military circles during the Second Boer War, defending their use of mass concentration camps. He came back to the island after it ended, worked for the office of a Conservative MP during the war…looks like he further consolidated support among the Tories with an op-ed lauding Brigadier Dyer for his,” Ben held up one paper, reading, “‘Valiant service on behalf of the Crown during the riots of Amritsar.’ Bollocks. Bloody fucker massacred hundreds of Indian civilians by firing squad in under ten minutes.”

Ben set the paper down and rubbed at his eyes roughly.

“He won his first election on opposition the Irish nationalism and supported the army’s actions against the Easter Rising. He’s spoken favorably of Mussolini...”

“He sounds like a real piece of work.”

Ben sighed deeply, pushing back his hair and folding his hands behind his head.

“He’s trying to found a new party, it seems. Breaking with conservative leadership over what he sees as a ‘lack of courage and deference to international Jewish banking interests in the U.S. and Europe.’ Fucking hell.”

Rey fingered the edge of the folder, turning it so she could get a better look at the picture clipped there. It was a shot taken on the streets—likely in secret, if the slightly unfocused quality and odd angle were any indication. He was coming down the steps of what appeared to be the House of Commons. Rey thought to ask Ben how he’d come by this information, and how many boxes of secret files Maz had hidden in that closet she’d pulled this from, but a man in the foreground of the shot caught her attention. She leaned forward, squinting to get a better look.

“Fuck me.”

Ben frowned, hands coming down on the desk. “What is it?”

“It’s him,” She breathed, not quite believing her eyes, “It’s him, Ben!”

“Who?”

Rey’s eyes widened as the picture changed color then, the black and white image taking on a red tone. _Blood red_ , blooming around the man in the corner of the shot. A man in a black hat, his shoulder wrapped in a heavy coat. 

“It’s the man from the break-in. The man I saw in the bloody mist.”

Ben’s brows shot up, and he reached for the picture. Now it was his turn to squint and scowl.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Completely. That’s him. I would know that color anywhere.”

Ben fell back in his chair with a humorless chuckle, the shock plain on his face. He rubbed his chin, staring into space a moment.

“Well, shit.”

“Who is he?”

Ben flipped the picture, frowning at whatever was written on the back.

“Major Chester Snoke. Chief of Staff, Intelligence. MI5, most likely. Close associate of the baronet, it would seem.”

Rey shook her head, bracing her hands against the desk. “I don’t understand. What’s an intelligence man doing on the ground, don’t they have underlings to do their dirty work for them? And why try to frame the other families for the attacks?”

“The real question,” Ben leaned forward, waving the photo lightly, “Is what Palpatine has to do with the Major’s business in Birmingham.”

Behind them, Maz knocked at the door.

“Ben? That doctor you called for is here.”

Immediately, all thoughts of Palpatine and Snoke and political intrigue fled Rey’s mind. Her hand came to her stomach on instinct, and she actually flinched at the glacial pall that fell over Ben. She thought, for the briefest moment, that he would tell Maz to send the doctor away. He cast the briefest glance at where her hand pressed against her womb, and there was no mistaking the look of longing that passed across his face. But then the shutters came down, and he cleared his throat, looking away.

“Yes, send him to the kitchen. Rey will be with him in just a moment.”

She didn’t wait for dismissal. She didn’t even say anything, just gave a tight nod and turned on her heels, leaving the room even as he called out to her. Maz startled when Rey all but ran over her as she came out of the office.

“Right, the kitchen, yeah?” Her voice was high and breathy.

“Ah, he’s actually in the hall—”

“Okay!” She tried to chirp, but it came out more like a screech. Maz gave her a worried frown, following after her. The doctor was waiting by the door, his smile faltering as she nearly slapped him in an attempt to shake his hand.

“His, yes, thank you so much for coming. Please, follow me.”

Maz huffed and puffed behind them, but let Rey lead the poor doctor to the kitchen.

“So,” Rey clapped her hands as she closed the door behind them, “Will we be needing anything? Hot water, extra linens…”

The doctor frowned before realization lit his face, and he shook his head with a bat of his hands.

“Oh no, sweet girl, nothing like that. It’s a shot, actually, new medicine developed specifically for the predicament in which women of your… _designation_ tend to find themselves.”

Her smile, which was too wide, twitched at the edges, matching the quiver of her left eyelid.

“Right. My designation. That, that _is_ wonderful.”

“Miss, pardon my intrusion, but are you sure you want…”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. _Of course_ I am. I want…”

She sat down forcefully in one of the chairs at the table, shrugging out of her cardigan and pushing up her sleeve to expose her bicep. The doctor hesitated a moment, and she threw him a sharp look.

“Ready when you are, sir.”

“Right,” He murmured, but the look he gave her was wary. She turned away, setting her arm on the table and staring determinedly at the door while he pulled a vile and syringe from his medical bag. The voice inside was rioting, banging against her mind and thoughts with bloody fists. She gritted her teeth, her other hand a fist in her lap.

She would not press it there. She would not touch what lay within the warmth, she would not—

She inhaled sharply at the prick of the needle, her hand flexing as she resisted the urge to lay her a palm on her stomach.

*****

Ben was in a terrible mood.

It could have been the exhaustion of three sleepless nights.

It could have been the truth about his grandfather and his connection to Palpatine.

It could have been the reality that an officer of the British Intelligence was targeting organized crime and a member of parliament might have something to do with it.

Any one of those reasons could have explained his foul mood, but Rey knew better. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d come out of the kitchen with the doctor behind her. Had felt the same sorrow weighing on her own heart.

It was the right thing to do. She knew it. He knew it. And yet it felt like they had looked upon that sacred thing they’d built beneath the roof of that forgotten manor, that bond forged in sweat and blood and slick, that _love_ he had poured into her with bated breath and tender sighs…and spit on it.

Didn’t matter that the timing was terrible.

Didn’t matter that forces far greater than they ever could have imagined were apparently plotting against them.

Didn’t matter that he was the Black Knight of Birmingham and she was an Irish Traveller.

She’d wanted to keep that baby. And, judging by his expression as he stared at her from across the bar, lifting his fifth glass of whisky to his lips…so did Ben.

“He loves you.”

Rey turned to Finn, who’d snuck up behind her where she was wiping down the bar. After the doctor had left, Armie had informed her that the coal workers had been asking BB about another pub session, specifically when they might expect ‘that Irish girl’ to sing for them again. After the week she’d had, Rey was hardly in a signing mood, but a night at the pub represented an easy distraction from Ben.

She knew it was foolish to run from him, knew he couldn’t possibly be mad at _her._ For fuck’s sake, the doctor had been his idea. And it was a good one, she knew that. She _knew that_.

And still.

“You love him, too,” Finn continued, taking a drag of is cigarette and sprinkling the ashes into one of the trays on the bar, “Makes me almost sick lookin’ at you.”

She rolled her eyes, allowing a tight laugh at the way he waggled his brows and smiled. But then the tears were there, and she wiped at them furiously, trying to turn away.

“Hey now, none of that. It’s a beautiful thing, what you two have. I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“Thank me?” She laughed again, but it came out watery. “What possibly for?”

“Before you came to town…”

Finn looked away, across the room to where Ben sat with Armie and Maz, no doubt discussing the revelations from Palpatine’s file. She followed his gaze, her eyes clashing again with Ben’s before she tucked her chin and turned back to Finn.

“The war changed Ben. Changed all of us, of course. He used to be lighter, more…spirited isn’t the right word,” Finn took another deep drag, squinting in thought. “Did you know he used to read Marx? I was ten when my family left Nigeria, my dad couldn’t get a job what with no one wanting to hire a black man. Han took a chance on my old man, and Ben took me in as a brother o’ sorts. His mum, Leia, used to bring us to the country on summer days, picnics and the like. Ben would lay for hours in the fields just _reading._ Was the oddest thing to me. I knew what his dad did for a living, because now my father did it, too. I just remember thinking it was the strangest thing, a gangster prince reading Engels amongst the flowers.”

Finn took another sip of his drink, sucking his teeth lightly as he swallowed.

“He stopped reading after Han died. And then we went to war, and it seems he brought back nothing of the young man I used to spend summers in the country with. Nothing seemed to touch him anymore. Not fear or anger or pain. But not joy, or peace neither.”

Across the pub, Ben palmed the back of neck and rubbed. She remembered the taste of his skin there, how she’d licked and sucked it by firelight, whispering sweet words into it that he couldn’t hear. She wondered if he could feel them, though.

“And now?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Right now? I think he’s trying to forget he ever fell in love.”

Rey’s horror must have shown, because Finn’s hand came down on hers and his smile was warm.

“Don’t let him, yeah? I used to think the only thing that scared a man like Benjamin Solo was feeling vulnerable, but that’s not true. He’s scared of losing the one person he’s weak for.”

The pub closed early as it always did on Tuesdays. Rey helped BB clean down the tables and bar top, aware of Ben’s eyes tracking her from the corner booth he’d been sitting in all night. Maz had left not long ago with Armie, who was still nursing that broken shoulder. Finn gave Rey a polite kiss on the cheek as he headed out, whispering in her ear.

“Whatever’s going on out there, remember that it can’t touch you in here. Help him remember that, too.”

With a conspiratorial wink, Finn left the pub. Rey turned back to Ben.

“Can I clear those for you?”

He looked down at the glasses on his table, frowning lightly as if genuinely confused by their presence. It made Rey’s lips twitch.

She crossed the pub. Reaching his table, she began stacking the empty glasses. She froze when his fingers found the skirt of her dress and twisted in the fabric.

“Oh!”

She startled as his forehead met her hip with a soft thud. She looked down at him, just staring for a moment at the top of his head. Gently, she let her fingers find his temple and rub before running them through his hair.

“Ben?”

His arms came up around her, pulling her forward. Now his whole face was pressed to her lower stomach, right over—

“Are you angry with me?”

The words came out garbled, muted against her pelvis. She set the glasses down and wrapped her arms around his head.

“No,” She whispered, rubbing softly at his neck in that spot he liked, “No, of course not Ben. Are…are you mad at m—”

“No,” He grumbled, “But you looked so sad when you came out of that kitchen, I thought maybe…”

He pulled back, looking up at her through bleary, liquor-fogged eyes, and it twisted something in her chest to see him laid bare like this.

“You’d be bloody beautiful, you know. I can’t stop picturing it. All soft and round and pink in the cheeks.”

She smiled, brushing a curl from his forehead.

“Come on, Mr. Solo. Let’s get you some water and a bed before you start making a fool of yourself.”

“Something tells me I’m already doing that, Ms. Kenobi.”

She tugged on the shoulders of his jacket, snickering. He groused lightly as he stood, swaying a bit on his feet. She wrapped an arm around his middle and walked them towards the stairs leading up to the rooms.

Slinging his arm over her shoulders, she helped him up one by one, giggling despite everything, and the sound seemed to please him. As they reached the top of the stairs, he pressed her against the wall, humming into her hair as his hands came up to the frame her face and just…held her to him. She let herself sink against his chest, that warm spice soothing her frazzled nerves.

To say the past week had been a lot was a _radical_ understatement, and yet all the tension and anxieties and fears that had been cramping her gut faded with each lungful of amber and smoke.

“You still smell like me…” His voice was a rumble.

His lips found her neck, dragging softly up to catch the lobe of her ear between his teeth. She sucked in a breath, her hands tightening on his waist.

“I never wanted to leave that room,” He whispered, tickling her skin, “I wanted to lock us away forever…forget all of this…”

She knew he’d never confess to thinking such things if he were sober. Even now, his words held an edge of something like shame. He was not a man who ran from anything, and she could tell he was torn between regret that they’d left and regret that he’d ever wanted to stay. But he _had_ wanted to stay. And so had she.

“One day, I’m going to marry you, cailín.”

She froze in his grip, pulling away enough to meet his drunken stare. Her stomach was flipping, her heart hammering, but she couldn’t help the teasing smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Mr. Solo, are you really proposing to me in a hotel hallway with a gallon of whisky flooding your veins?”

“Christ, no. I wouldn’t _dream_ of it,” He grinned, and then he was kissing her, really kissing her. She gasped into his mouth, letting him drag her from the wall to the door of her room.

One would think after the last three days—after the fire and the lust and the unmitigated need—they couldn’t possibly want to fall into bed again. And yet that’s precisely where Ben took them as they stumbled through the threshold and crossed the room, Rey’s legs already around his waist and Ben’s hands kneading her ass.

He lowered her rather indelicately, all but falling on top of her as she fussed with the buttons of his vest and tugged his shirttails from his trousers. He was similarly impatient, growling as he struggled to rid her of her cardigan and dress.

Her room was small, dim in the light of the single lamp with the green shade. Outside, she could hear the sounds of a sleepless city, men working night shifts at the coal plants and a baby crying somewhere in the building next door. And then all she heard was Ben, his short breaths in her ear, against her neck, trailing down her chest as he took a nipple in his mouth and bit lightly.

“I want you,” He whispered into the swell of her breast, his free hand skimming down her stomach to cup her in his palm, “I always want you…”

Her blood hammered behind her ears, and she felt an echo of that former frenzy, as if her body were remembering how badly it has needed him just a day before. But as Ben came to settle between her legs, his nose running back and forth against her inner thigh, she felt a shift in the energy coursing between them.

“I could stay here for hours…like this.”

He pressed an open-mouthed kissed to the crease of her pelvis, his eyes heavy-lidded and lost.

“Just breathing you in, little one. I could breathe you in for an eternity and it would always be the same.”

“How would it be?” She managed to choke out on a breathless sigh.

“It’s the entire spectrum of feeling, love. Feels like fire and water and everything I hate and love all in a single breath. It feels like living.”

His tongue slid through the very center of her with no warning, making her arch and cry out. He took his time, no groove or swell left unloved. His fingers played magic at the top of her while his tongue set a steady, maddening pace at her center. Circling, probing, rimming the edge until she fell apart, spilling out and down his throat in a way that made him growl in satisfaction as he lapped her up.

Her vision hadn’t fully cleared when he crawled back up her body and took her mouth. She could taste herself on his lips, and she tasted like _him_. It lit her from the inside, the need it drew from her deeper, less frantic. It made her think of the ocean, the difference between vicious riptides and deep-sea currents. Her heat had been dramatic, violent, and upon her so suddenly she’d had no hope of escape. But this? It dredged up the very bottom of her, pulling it to the surface and setting the pace of her soul as it moved languidly through her. She felt reorganized beneath his touch.

He slipped in slowly, as if he were similarly affected. His breath was hers. Her skin was his. This was unending.

They moved on instinct, an ebb and flow Rey felt in her marrow. She saw it mirrored in Ben’s drowsy stare. It was love, and something else. An understanding. A recognition of complimentary opposition.

They were a dyad in the fabric of existence.

Again, the words were on her tongue. It would be so easy to say them. But was love a strong enough notion for this? The word felt hollow, overused. Something other people said when they fancied someone, a word for superficial pleasures. 

Ben turned her sideways, her legs scissoring with his as he lifted up onto his knees. His grip on her hip was firm, grounding. He rode her in time with the waves moving through her. She followed the line of his veins from his neck to his chest and bicep, seeing the blood pumping there. His pulse was hers, everything syncing with the current running between them.

“Show me, little one. Show me how you feel.”

She came on a silent scream, her voice drowned beneath the wave as it pulled her under. She felt him pull out, but he was right there, running the underside of that perfect cock between her folds. The swollen base of it rubbed right over that most sensitive part at the apex of her thighs, and her eyes flashed wide before drooping as a second wave hit her right on the heels of the first.

“Christ,” His head tipped back, neck thick and jaw slack, “It’s always—”

“Good,” She gasped, chest heaving with each deep pull inside, “It’s good, Ben.”

“It’s bloody everything, little one. _Fook me_ —”

His moan was plaintive, a sound she felt in her gut, as he came on her belly, her hip, the dip of her waist. She still lay on her side, and his finger came up to catch a drop of cum and spread it along her ribs, tracing the underside a breast. He dragged his wet finger over her nipple, making it pucker and fresh goosebumps break out on her skin. She caught his wrist and brought the digit to her lips, sucking it clean. His eyes closed, an expression she’d never seen before falling across his face. It was soft, open, and a bit sad.

They didn’t speak as he rose from the bed to wet a cloth in the adjoining bathroom. He ran it over her skin almost reluctantly, as if it pained him to wipe her clean of his offering. She felt a similar loss, her hand falling down on her abdomen where another emptiness sat. The look he gave her was loaded, an unspoken promise behind those dark eyes.

One day, his eyes said.

One day, hers whispered back.

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, pressed tightly together on the small bed. Ben’s legs hung almost halfway off, and Rey was sure his arm had fallen asleep beneath her head. But his face was relaxed and his breathing even. He looked peaceful, not only from the liquor.

She stayed up long after he’d nodded off, taking advantage of his exhaustion to simply look at him. It was funny, she thought, how well she knew his face. And yet she found it endlessly fascinating to look upon, could tell it would always draw her eyes even years from now.

She prayed they would have years together.

She prayed they would have everything, some day.

That the circumstances of their lives would yield to the promise of something more, something untouchable. Something neither ghosts nor mercenaries nor power-hungry lords could ever tarnish. It was doubtful. Even now, she felt fate resting on her shoulder, a portend of things to come, but she prayed for it all the same.

She finally drifted off to dreams of a blanket by the fire on an Irish summer’s eve, her hand pressed to her stomach between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDramaDrama
> 
> Your thoughts below!


	16. Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing, in which It All goes Horribly Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI FRIENDS THANKS FOR TUNING IN 
> 
> A couple things to address!
> 
> 1\. I want to restate my sincere apologies for my oversight in tagging abortion as a topic, it was NOT okay. I updated, but the damage was done and I am SO sorry.
> 
> 2\. Similarly, many took issue with Ben’s presumption/lack of communication with Rey. I’m actually glad attention was drawn to this, as it’s super valid and something I didn’t wanna sugarcoat? If you’ve watched Peaky Blinders (this fic's inspo) you know Thomas Shelby is NOT the most enlightened man regarding most things, women being one of them, (if you know, you KNOW). By that same token, Ben’s love for Rey in this fic does NOT exempt him from being insufferable/patriarchal/controlling. I wanted to write something that was complicated and captured what I think were the real gender dynamics for many during the early/mid 1920s. The turn of the 20th century was A LOT (socially, politically, economically, it was a shit show), and this fic explores the more brutal elements of the period. That said, there's a fine line between trying to capture the complexities of a specific period, and condoning or celebrating toxicity. I am trying my best to do the former, but if the latter ever comes through, please let me know so I can make it right!
> 
> 3\. Just me rambling: The topic of consent is super intriguing within the A/B/O genre, as much of the appeal rests on the ways that characters 'lose control' based on external factors they can't...well, control. Not me kink shaming here—I wrote an A/B/O fic so you know I'm *here for it* haha. But I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on this, especially as it concerns how we draw lines and understand our own desires as they manifest in fantasy vs. reality. 
> 
> Okay I swear I'm done now.
> 
> Chapter song: Baby did a Bad, Bad Thing (cover), by Queen Kwong

**16**

**Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing, in which It All goes Horribly Wrong**

Dameron set their meeting at a pub he owned in the heart of Camden Town.

The Breadmaker rose from the table, arms open as Ben, Rey, Hux, and Finn stepped through the pub’s doors, two Flyboys close behind. It was a small establishment, hovel-like she thought. The only people milling about were Flyboys and a cook, who was setting the table with some kind of meat pie and glasses of rum.

“Benjamin, ‘s been like pulling teeth tryin’ to get you in a room. What’s this I hear ‘bout you smashin’ Unkar Plutt’s head in with a shovel?”

“A pipe.”

“Right, right, pipe,” Poe nodded, palms clapping his thighs, “They both swing, don’t they? Please, sit. Morris, another round of glasses, _whisky_ for these heretics.”

As they arranged themselves around the table, Dameron’s gaze fell on Armie and a no-good smile spread across his face.

“Oy, what’s with the costume, bulldog? You look _dashing—_ ”

“You lil’ shit—” Finn’s hand came down tiredly on Armie’s good shoulder, giving him a light tug. Dameron frowned in mock concern, gesturing to Armie before looking at Ben with a quirked brow.

“Some new information has come to light,” Ben said coolly, folding his hands atop the table, “I believe I know who’s behind the attacks.”

“I would hope so. You’ve got a one-eyed dog now, ‘s time you sorted this mess before he loses the other. And you…”

Dameron turned to Rey, and she could feel Ben tense beside her. She cast him a quick glance; his mask was firmly in place.

“Ah—”

“You must have a fookin’ _wonderland_ between those legs if you got the Black Knight o’ Birmingham runnin’ all the way up to Scotland—”

Ben moved so fast no one saw the gun until he was pointing it at Dameron’s head, thumb cocking the hammer. Dameron’s smile held, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“A wonderland, indeed.”

Dameron leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand across his chin as he continued to grin at the four of them. Gun still in his face, he nodded.

“Right, you said you have information?”

It took Ben a moment to lower the gun, a short breath leaving him as he struggled to regain his composure. Rey noted the way his fists tightened and released, like he was physically relieving the tension coiled tight within him. Dameron seemed to notice, too, judging by the sardonic arch of his brow and indulgent curve of his lips.

“It concerns the attack on my office several weeks back, the one with the fake flyboy scarf,” Ben smoothed the corners of his mouth with thumb and forefinger, “I now have reason to believe that the mind behind it is official, a member of the intelligence community.”

That brow quirked higher. “Intelligence?”

“Yes. A Major Chester Snoke. He was there the day my offices were broken into.”

Dameron shot a look at Rey. “Your wee cailín figure that out for you?”

“Would you like to take another look at my gun, Poe?”

Dameron chuckled. “Quite alright, Ben. So, this Snoke fellow, what’s he doin’ stirring up trouble in Birmingham? You pick a fight with the wrong people, Ben?”

“Hardly. I’ve no quarrel with the Yard, MI5, none of them.”

“Aye, you don’t. But it seems they have quarrel with you.”

Rey felt him before she saw him. A lick of dread up her spine, followed by a sensation like air sucking from the room. She turned just as he came around the corner from where he’d been standing in the shadows of the back hallway.

Everything happened as if in slow motion. He stepped into the light, and Finn was already on his feet. He tipped his hat up, and Armie was reaching for his holster. His eyes landed on Ben, and the Black Knight was already drawing his gun.

So was every Flyboy in the room.

A hush settled as the click of hammers echoed through the pub. Rey looked around to see guns pointed on everyone. Ben’s was pointing at the stranger. Finn’s was aimed at a Flyboy, whose own gun was aimed at Ben. Armie’s pistol was trained on Poe, who was the only one still seated, his hands held up in resignation.

“Sorry it had to be this way, mate—”

“You _filthy fucking bastard!_ ” Armie screamed, ready to charge across the table. But then another Flyboy was pushing forward, the tip of his pistol pressing to Armie’s temple.

Rey’s heart was in her throat. All her body was frozen except her eyes, which shifted frantically around the room, taking in every gun and man and the positions of each. Everyone was in someone’s line of fire. Everyone except her.

“Mr. Solo, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The first thing Rey noted about Major Chester Snoke was his accent. It was subtle, buried beneath years of careful cultivation, but she would still piece out the hint of Irish lilt behind his words. If she had to guess, he was Northern Irish, from Belfast no doubt.

The second thing she noted was his color. Even now, without meaning to, she could see the red haze clinging to him, a physical manifestation of a constant rage sitting just beneath his skin. He had blue eyes like ice, and beneath his thick mustache his skin was…mottled, somehow. Like he’d been burned once.

He was broad and tall, but now that she was seeing him in the flesh, she saw how gaunt and sunken he looked. The lines of his body were as severe as the planes of his face, and when his eyes shifted to her, she visibly shuddered. Something in that icy stare held an edge of recognition.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but it seemed necessary to introduce myself. Though it appears you already know who I am.”

Ben said nothing, just stared down the top of his gun at the Major. Snoke smiled.

“Right. Well, as my friend Mr. Dameron was saying, I do have a matter I would like to discuss with you. I come on behalf of a mutual acquaintance of your family’s. I’m sure you already know of whom I speak.”

“Palpatine,” She whispered without thought, and Snoke’s eyes found hers again.

“Indeed, Ms…Kenobi, is it?”

“What do you want?” Ben bit out, shifting ever so slightly in front of Rey. The move was not lost on Snoke.

“Me? Oh, I want many things. A promotion, to start, which I was sure to get by bringing three of the most notorious criminal organizations in the Kingdom to their knees. It was a beautiful plan, really, clean and efficient. Turn them against one another, let them kill each other for me, I had it all figured out. But then you had to go and make mincemeat of Unkar Plutt, and now my boss needs you for a different purpose.”

“And what might that be?”

“To resume the work you forced Plutt to stop.”

“You see,” Snoke continued, pulling a gun from his own holster and weight it in his hands, “Mr. Palpatine’s new party has begun to attract…opposition among certain sectors of the public. His rallies can get contentious, and it is of utmost importance that riotous dissenters are handled with an appropriate measure of _strength_. The Billy Boys offered security in exchange for favorable government shipping contracts. Mr. Palpatine has connections to very lucrative markets as well as the administrative bodies tasked with regulating them. It pays to serve a member of parliament.”

“And is that what I would get? Contracts in exchange for supplying muscle at his fascist rallies?”

“Heaven’s no,” Snoke laughed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, “That’s what he’s offered Mr. Dameron in exchange for putting us in contact.”

“And my name expunged from all intelligence records,” Poe lifted a finger, crossing his legs, “Don’t forget about that.”

Armie was _moments_ from tearing the Breadmaker’s throat out, damn the gun at his head. But Ben only had eyes for Snoke.

“And what is Mr. Palpatine offering me and my men, then?”

“Nothing. You do this for free.”

Ben’s smile was cold. “I must have heard you wrong…”

“Then let me be very clear, Mr. Solo.”

Snoke raised his gun, aiming it at the center of Ben’s head. “You will pledge yourself and your men to Sir Sheev Palpatine, _for free…_ ”

He shifted the gun then—and pointed it at Rey.

“Or I kill her.”

Silence fell around them. Rey’s eyes widened. Beside her, Ben had turned to stone.

“What’ll it be, Mr. Solo?”

For a moment—one endless, heart-stopping moment—everyone just stood there. Ben seemed to have lost his voice, his eyes hard on the gun Snoke aimed at Rey. For her part, Rey had forgotten what it was to breathe. With each second that passed, her vision grew dimmer, and she had the fleeting thought that she might pass out.

Ben took a step forward, and Snoke cocked the hammer. It brought Ben to a sudden, lurching halt.

“Wait—” He choked, swallowing thickly as his other hand came up cautiously. “Please, just…wait.”

Snoke looked between the two of them, something like morbid humor flashing in his eyes.

“So you _do_ love her—”

“Yes.”

Rey jerked as if shocked, eyes flying to Ben. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching Snoke carefully, his stance no longer aggressive. The gun he held now hung from his thumb, both hands open in surrender.

He loved her.

He loved her, and Snoke was still pointing a gun at his head.

He loved her, and he was going to save her life…by forfeiting his.

“Ben—”

“Tell me what to do,” He said to Snoke, who looked positively _smug_ as he took in Ben’s open palms and curved shoulders.

“There is a car waiting for us outside. You will put your gun down on the ground and come with me. We will drive across town, to Mr. Palpatine’s apartments in Mayfair, where he is expecting us for dinner.”

Ben was already crouching, eyes never leaving Snoke’s as he slowly set the gun on the floor and kicked it forward. Snoke nodded at one of Dameron’s boys, who scrambled to pick it up.

“No, Ben, _please_ ,” Rey rushed forward, but the man who’d grabbed Ben’s gun was on her now, pointing it at her temple. She saw Ben twitch, eyes flaring for an instant. But then Snoke gave the Flyboy a nod, and the gun fell away.

“She walks free,” Ben said with an edge, “ _No one_ touches her. Agreed?”

“Of course, Mr. Palpatine is nothing if not a man of his word, Mr. Solo. Shall we?”

“Ben—”

“Hush, little one,” He whispered low, casting her a firm look from beneath his lashes as Snoke passed, “It will be alright.”

“No, please, don’t do this…” She reached for him, but then Dameron waved his hand, and the Flyboy was grabbing her.

It set something off inside of her. She jumped as his arms came around her, turning to the man with frantic eyes. He gave her a tug backwards just as Ben stepped away.

“Wait, wait, no—” She flailed, panic rising swiftly in her voice, “No, Ben. _Ben!_ ”

He ignored her, following Snoke to the door. Finn and Armie were growling bitter curses under breath, but one look from Ben had their jaws snapping shut.

“Ben! No, Ben _please!_ ”

“After you, Mr. Solo,” Snoke bowed lightly, holding the door open. His eyes clashed with Rey’s as Ben stepped outside, and a scream tore from her throat. The man holding her quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, and the smile that split Snoke’s face made her blood boil.

“Go on, Miles,” Dameron said, standing up with a somber sigh, “Take her to the back.”

Rey thrashed in the man’s arms, kicking her legs and pounding her fists against his thighs. She bit down on his palm, but all he did was grunt softly as he dragged her towards the hallway Snoke had emerged from. She could hear Armie and Finn shouting obscenities at Dameron as they turned the corner, Rey trying and failing to break free of the man’s grip. They stormed through the kitchen doors, passing stoves and counters as he dragged her to an empty meat locker.

“Oof!” She huffed, stumbling when the man threw her inside. She knocked into a metal shelf with a growl, then spun around with her fists raised. But he was already closing the door, and she howled at the sound of the lock sealing her inside.

“Let me out! Let me the _fuck out!_ ” She shrieked, pounding on the door. The freezer wasn’t on, thank God, but it was still chilly inside and the smell of cut meat clung to the stale air.

She screamed, her fists connecting over and over with metal. She screamed until her voice cracked. Until tears spilled down her cheeks and into her mouth, drowning her. She slid to the floor, the sobs wracking her frame and making the nearly healed wound in her side cramp.

She couldn’t say how much time passed, only that she was half-asleep from sheer exhaustion when the door finally cracked open and Dameron came inside. She was slow to rise from the floor, but once the confusion of waking cleared from her mind, she snarled and lunged for him with claws bared.

“You _lying sack of shit!—_ ”

“Easy now, darlin’” Poe caught her wrists before they could connect with his face, “None of that until we’ve had a chat, yeah?”

“I have _nothing_ to say to you,” She hissed, spitting in his face. He turned at the last second, so that it landed on the curve of his jaw. She could see him gritting his teeth, inhaling deeply to collect himself. He smirked, an edge to his eyes when he looked back at her.

“You will _not_ do that again.”

She snorted, getting ready to _do that again—_

“Not if you want to come with us.”

She froze in his hold, narrowing her eyes.

“Where?”

“Mayfair.”

“You sold him out. You traded him in—”

“Aye, for this.” He let go of her wrists and reached into his coat to pull out a folder. Rey eyed him a moment before snatching it from his grasp with a growl. He paced as she read.

“When Ben came to me with that phony scarf, I started to do some digging o’ mine own, right. Can’t have people runnin’ round playin’ at the Flyboy. Took some time to turn the right stones, but I’ve got a man down at Scotland Yard what used to work with Major Snoke when he was still _Inspector_ Snoke of the Royal Irish Constabulary. Didn’t take too much time after that to realize I’d found our man.”

Dameron ran a hand absently along a metal shelf, turning back to her. By the time she’d reached the bottom of the page, she looked up.

“Your file?”

“Aye, my file. Got the files on Ben and The Madam in me office back at the bakery, but Snoke doesn’t know that. He also doesn’t know that my man at the Yard’s already burned the copies he was keepin’ in his desk, _and_ the ones he hid behind the radiator in his apartments. Seems he really wants that promotion.”

“So it was a lie,” She breathed, “You knew he was lying about expunging the records, and yet you still—”

“I made him _comfortable._ He thinks he’s won.”

“Hasn’t he? They took Ben,” Fresh tears rimmed her lashes, “They took him because of me—”

Dameron was on her then, a firm hand taking her chin and shaking her lightly. His nose was a breath away from hers, those dark eyes burning her beneath a wild stare.

“Enough. You’re made of tougher stuff, Traveller. I knew your grandfather. He wouldn’t want to see this simpering mess, and neither do I. You forget who you are, Ms. Kenobi.”

Her jaw steeled beneath his grip, the tears halting. She tipped her chin as much as he would allow, staring down her nose at him.

“And who am I, Poe Dameron?”

“You are a _woman scorned._ No tougher thing on Earth. You will bring fire and brimstone and the hounds of hell down upon that dickless swine and the fascist pig he serves. You will march into that ivory tower with a loaded gun and remind _everyone_ that nobody fucks with the Knights of Ren. You are bloody Joan of Arc, woman. Start acting like it.”

He released her chin roughly, stepping back on a deep inhale as he ran restless fingers through his hair. She looked down at the folder in her hands.

“You say we go to Mayfair. When?”

“Sunrise. When they least expect it.”

“Who goes?”

“Your men out there, some of mine,” He scratched his chin, considering her a moment, “You, of course…”

“It won’t be enough. A man like Palpatine will have guards, Snoke’s men and his own.”

“Aye, we’ve already scouted it out. Will take more than what we have between us. Which is why I’ve called in a favor.”

“With whom?”

Dameron’s smile should have been warning enough.

“Let’s just say…he’s an old friend of the family.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me through this story. As it approaches its end, I feel really grateful you’ve taken the time to read and to share your thoughts :)


	17. I Know, in which the Game is Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, may I finally present: FULL BEN POV CHAPTER.
> 
> (don't hate me, but our mysterious 'friend of the family' won't be revealed until the next chapter!)
> 
> Chapter song: I know, by Pink Sweat$

**17**

**I Know, in which the Game is Set**

As Ben sat across the table from Sir Sheev Palpatine, a maid fussing over his place setting, he recalled his mother’s words.

“Sometimes the greatest battles are fought not with fist and gun, but with stares and silence.”

She’d said this while dealing them cards at the kitchen table. She was teaching him to play poker.

“The trick is never to show your hand.”

“Why would I show someone my hand? I thought the whole point was _not_ to do that.”

“Too right,” She’d chuckled, picking up her cards but keeping them turned down. “But I’m not talking about the cards you hold. I’m talking about what’s in your eyes.”

“See,” She’d tapped her cheek, below her lashes, “A master player never gives away what they’ve got. You look in their eyes and see nothing. A blank stare, unreadable. Like looking at a statue. Now, lift your hand.”

He had.

“You’ve got something.”

“What?”

“Something decent, maybe a solid pair.”

He’d been flustered, looking down at the two sixes in his hand. “How do you know that?”

“I told you, it’s in the eyes.”

“The thing is Ben,” She’d continued, “There’s something to be said for a perfect poker face, whether or not you’re playing cards. You’ll find in life that most conversations are had before you’ve even opened your mouth. You can read intentions in the eyes, in the cheeks and how they twitch. Others will look at you and see the answers to questions they’ve yet to ask. And by that time, they’ve already decided whether you’re friend or foe. It makes it hard to… _choose_ anything. Your story is written there on your face, and depending on who’s reading it, you’ve already lost the game.”

She’d laid her hand down then—a full house. Ben’s lips had parted in awe.

“Best to learn how to shutter your secrets behind those eyes, sweet boy. Leave ‘em guessing, and you just might have chance of winning.”

His father had come into the kitchen while they were playing another hand. His eyes had connected with his mother’s, and the mask she had carefully cultivated cracked, letting a light come through. Han had given Leia a kiss as she picked up another card, and that’s when Ben saw it. A faint twinkle.

“You’ve got a good card.”

She’d smiled, laying down her hand. “That I do. Seems you caught me with my shutters open.”

….

“Mr. Solo. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Sheev Palpatine, 6th baronet, was a man of average stature and unremarkable features. His pale skin was papery and finely wrinkled, the little hair he had left a shock of white waves brushed back from his face. He wore expensive house clothes—a silk black robe over pajamas and leather loafers—and a small pair of spectacles sitting low on his nose. He puffed away at a cigar, the fingers of one hand tapping absently against the top of the long dining room table at which they sat. Behind him, a fire burned in a resplendent hearth, a portrait of Palpatine in his garden hanging above the mantle.

The maid finally finished setting the table in time for another girl to come in with their food. Ben said nothing as a plate of roast and potatoes was laid before him, his glass filled with red wine that no doubt cost as much as a month’s rent in a Birmingham tenement. Everything about Palpatine’s apartments spoke of obscene wealth. And that was coming from the Black Knight of Birmingham, who was not known for penny pinching.

“I hope you will forgive the rather unfavorable circumstances of our meeting. I assure you I would not have taken such drastic measures had it not been necessary.”

Ben said nothing, his mask firmly in place. He could tell the silence intrigued the man, noted the calculating smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

“I’m sure you know this, but I once worked with your grandfather....”

It was a test, an attempt to provoke. Ben picked up his cutlery and began cutting his meat.

“We met some years back, when he was appointed to oversee the interim government in the Cape. We worked closely on securing a political framework amenable to British economic interests in the region. For the most part, the colonial project proved successful and lucrative without much incident. The local population generally deferred to our authority, but when there _was_ opposition…well, your grandfather was known for handling it most expediently.”

His tone was conversational, his expression pleasant as if they were discussing cricket and not the violent dispossession and exploitation of an entire continent. But his eyes were shifty, looking for any signs of tension, any hint that his words were hitting their mark.

Ben popped a bite into his mouth and chewed leisurely.

“Of course, his actions did not go unnoticed, and as dissent grew back home over what some saw as…less than savory measures taken on behalf of the Crown, he was forced to return to England and face trial for his involvement in the Xhosa Wars.”

Palpatine picked up his wine class, giving it a hearty sniff before lightly sipping.

“You look a lot like him, you know. Your grandfather. Have that same stoic air, as well…”

“Mr. Palpatine,” Ben set his fork down and lifted his wine, “I was told this was a business dinner.”

“And the same weakness,” Palapatine continued, swirling his wine slowly, “Another Menelaus, ready to forfeit his men and kingdom in exchange for his precious Helen.”

Ben’s glass froze midway to his mouth. He stared at Palpatine, and he knew the other man could see it. The truth behind his words, right there in Ben’s stare.

“Did you know,” Palpatine rose from his chair, walking to the hearth, “I was there the night your grandfather put that bullet in his head? A pity, truly, and entirely avoidable. You see, he was facing grave charges at that trial, most notably the extrajudicial killings performed against war prisoners and a few unfortunate civilians. Killings I sanctioned, as it were.”

Palpatine rested an elbow on the hearth, staring into the fire. “He had prepared a file of all our correspondence. He was ready to present it at his next hearing, but he made the mistake of trusting his secretary with the information. He did not know I’d planted a mole in his offices, and he was not expecting me that night when I came to his door with a proposition of my own.”

“You killed him.”

Palpatine shook his head, taking another sip of wine. “No, Mr. Solo. Your grandfather pulled that trigger on his own. I merely gave him the incentive.”

“And what incentive was that?”

Palpatine turned to Ben and smiled. “The same one I’m giving you. His life in exchange for the guaranteed safety of his loved ones.”

“You,” Ben swallowed, trying to keep his voice in check, “You were going to kill my grandmother?”

“Your grandmother, your uncle, your mother…in truth, you should thank Anakin Skywalker, Mr. Solo. If he hadn’t put that bullet in his skull, you would never have been born.”

Palpatine pushed away from the hearth, coming back to the table.

“Snoke says she’s lovely, your Rey. Must be, to bring a man like you to my table.”

Ben could feel them, the cracks spreading like fractures in his mask. He willed his fists to unclench as he thought of the look in Rey’s eyes when he walked out of that pub. There was every chance he might never see her again, if only to put as much distance as possible between her and Sheev Palpatine. The thought of those hazel eyes wide and frantic left his stomach hollow.

Palpatine was right about one thing: Ben would take an army across the seas and wage war on an entire kingdom if he thought it would save Rey. As it were, it seemed the best way to protect the woman he loved—and he did love her, madly and despite his best efforts—was to keep himself at a distance. It shouldn’t have pained him so much. It shouldn’t have made him want to howl, want to rip out the throat of every man in the room (there were several; Palpatine was wise enough not to come to a table with the Black Knight of Birmingham alone). 

Even now, sitting in a room full of guards with no weapon on his person, Ben could feel the wolf at his shoulder, growling in his ear. It was hungry, simmering with bloodlust at the mere mention of Rey’s name in the mouth of such a vile man. He ran his tongue across his teeth, trying to quell that rage sitting just beneath his skin. What he wouldn’t give to sink his claws into the soft flesh of this aristocratic despot. He’d make what he’d done to Unkar Plutt look like a mercy—

“I’d like to schedule a rally in Birmingham, Mr. Solo. I’m told there is substantial support to be secured there, though I am also aware that the socialists have established themselves among coal unions. You will procure a venue for the rally and provide appropriate security, free of charge of course. Snoke is working to infiltrate the ranks of organized labor, and when the time comes you will help us wipe out the communist agitators once and for all.”

“And Ms. Kenobi? How am I assured of her safety?”

“So long as you remain loyal to our agreement, Ms. Kenobi is free to go about her life in peace. As I understand it, she has family in both Dublin and Manchester, and I’ve no quarrel with Gwen Phasma. In fact, she may prove an asset to future projects. Perhaps you will put us in contact…”

Ben sat back in his chair, pulling a cigarette from the case in his vest pocket. Lighting it, he squinted at Sheev Palpatine through the smoke.

“You ever been in love, Mr. Palpatine?”

That seemed to amuse the other man. “I’ve never seen the point in it.”

“Aye, there is no point. Quite the opposite. It’s a time-consuming, endlessly confusing affair, and an all-around bother to business. That’s the way I’ve always seen it, which is why I avoided it at all costs for most of my life.”

He took another deep drag, sprinkling the ash on the gleaming tabletop. Palpatine’s left eyelid twitched.

“But now that I’ve come down with this sickness, I’ve learned some things. While love is a tactical nightmare, it can be singularly motivating in a way money can’t touch. And though it’s true that you can easily manipulate a man when his heart is on the line, the sword is not without its double edge.”

Ben leaned forward, blowing smoke in the other man’s face and taking no small degree of pleasure in the way it made his nose wrinkle.

“Know this, Mr. Palpatine. Love is both a weakness and a strength. Yes, it can bring a man to his knees. But he will also do unspeakable things in the name of love.”

Palpatine’s answering smile lacked the same smugness as before. “Mr. Solo, I would say you are in no position to threaten me—”

“Adhere to the terms of our agreement and I’ll have no reason to renege. But you lay one hand on Rey Kenobi and I will bring heaven and hell down upon you. I will make whatever war crimes you had my grandfather carry out in the Cape look like child’s play. You may think you hold all the cards right now, Mr. Palpatine, but you’re dealing with the Knights of Ren now. This is _my_ game.”

Palpatine smirked, though Ben could see a fissure in his confidence. The baronet motioned for one of his girls standing off in the corner.

“Anette, would you please show Mr. Solo to his rooms? I think we are done for tonight.”

Palpatine’s apartments were massive, the halls decorated in white and royal blue. Anette led Ben to a room in the west wing, similarly lavish and well-furnished.

“If you are in need of anything, the bell is there.”

Of course Palpatine would have bells.

Ben waited until the door clicked behind him and Anette’s steps faded before letting the mask and his shoulders fall. The wolf was still there at his throat, but so was an overwhelming sadness. It weighed heavy on his chest, making his heart stutter and his breathing difficult. He stumbled to the chair before the fireplace, a fire already burning in the hearth.

His hands shook as he raked them through his hair, one flying to his collar to tug at the tie around his neck. He swallowed, but that sadness had crept up his throat, crushing his windpipe and making his next breath come out like a pant. Christ, what was this?

Panic. It was panic that was making his vision tunnel and his fingers twitch as he fumbled with the tie. He ran a hand across his mouth, the taste of it sour on his tongue.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Palpatine. The baronet had as much reason to adhere to the terms of their arrangement as Ben did. So long as Ben remained amenable to their deal, Palpatine would ensure no harm came to Rey by his hand.

But Ben was right when he’d spoken to Palpatine of love. It did not head logic and measured words. It did not care about efficiency and good business. It was ambivalent to rationalizations and agreements made between sinners at the dinner table over the clink of wine glasses. All love did was fill hearts or break them, and right now Ben’s was breaking.

He wouldn’t see her again. He knew that much. So long as he was working with Palpatine and Snoke, he couldn’t risk keeping her. It would kill him one day, he thought. Kill him the way it killed his grandfather—by bullet—or his father—by simply robbing him of any will to live. The only thing that would keep him going, he wagered, was the fear of no longer being able to protect her. To safeguard her wellbeing with whatever means he had at his disposal, including his service to a man who rivaled the devil by every definition.

Ben pulled another cigarette out, and it shook in his hands as he lit it. He knew there were tears in his eyes. Angry tears. Furious tears. The tears of a man who’d almost had everything.

A man who had been born into a tragedy.

A man who’d inherited a kingdom and made it an empire.

He would have made her his queen, he thought. He would have laid it all at her feet.

He sucked in deeply, tipping his head back to blow smoke at the chandelier above. He closed his eyes, feeling the tears slipping from the corners, and remembered her in that room. The vision she’d made, sprawled out on that bed that had for so long been empty. Her skin had been so bright, flushed and shining beneath the firelight. He could hear her heart pattering, could almost see it fluttering in her chest, as he’d slid inside of her. As he’d fallen into her, lost himself in that warm brown stare and the feeling of her arms encircling him.

Her lips pressing to his neck.

Her words at his ear.

Her delicate fingers dragging up his back and kneading into his shoulders.

He would have Finn give her money, send a letter of Phasma that she was safe to return to Manchester. With luck, she would go home to Dublin, far away from the mess into which he had dragged her. The thought of a sea between them was brutal, but he took some comfort in knowing she would be beyond Palpatine’s reach.

Maybe he would kill them all one day.

Maybe he would make it back to her.

He would not ask her to wait for him. She’d already lost so many years to a covetous man, and while Plutt’s lust held nothing to Ben’s love, it was cruel to expect her to linger in perpetuity. She deserved to start anew, deserved a _choice_.

There would never be another for him, he knew that. He couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it, though. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He deeply regretted not telling her properly that he loved her. After everything she had endured—everything _he_ had put her through—she at least deserved to hear the words spoken in their entirety. She should never be left to guess.

He hung his head, wiping at his eyes. He’d spent 30 years learning to fear nothing. To cultivate an iron will and forfeit peace for power. And he’d been pleased with the life he’d made for himself. He still was, when he thought about it. He was a man with means, a man who had played his hand well and risen to every occasion presented to him. This time would be no different.

Aye, he would not stop now. Tomorrow, he would rally the troops and set to work on the task before him. He would go along without issue, all the while lying in wait. He would remain ready for whatever opportunities presented themselves. And if they didn’t, he would make his own opportunities and seize hold of this game with Palpatine.

He would fight for the only woman he’d ever loved. And he would lose her, but she would come out the winner.

That would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. I'm getting emotional about this story ending.
> 
> 2\. I got the FLUFFIEST/MOST ABSURD new fic idea the other day. Anyone down for another wild ride? 
> 
> Your thoughts below!


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